F 9 
M17 





Qass. 
Book. 



PRICE, 25 CENTS, 



A 

Thousand /V\iles 



WITH THE 



Queer ^ Quartette 



A flaprative of a Trip by Bieyele and Boat through 
^eui York and fletu England. 



BY 



AKTHU-R H.MacOWE/N, 

(CHRIS WHEELER.) 



PHILADELPHIA: 

flmefiean Athlete Publishing Office, 

1218 FILBERT STREET. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

Rhymes of the Road and River, 

Cloth, Gilt, $2.00. 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

A truly elegant volume containing a qnantity of lively, cheery poems, 
gay in their fancies and their rhythms. His beautiful book will find many 
sympathizing readers. — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 

Some of his poems are realy pretty, being informed with thi love of 
fresh air and quiet scenery, and the sentimental spirit of a genuine poet m 
feeling who has read his \\ ordsworth or Longfellow in the air. 

— Philadelphia Record. 

Full of well turned conceits and healthy out-door descriptions. It ha- 
none of the Boston School of Culture about it, ) ut a great deal of nalurr. 
by one who loves everything connected with out-door life. 

— Cincin nati In quire r. 

As an example of " Chris Wheeler's " breezy verse, we must spare room 
for 

The foam flakes are flying away behind. 
The swallows are circling against the wind, 
'I'herc's a glow on the clouds where crimson lined 
They smother the sunlight dying. 

The fancy shown in the last line is a promising indication. There are a 
dozen rhymes, especially in the third portion, which well deserve the nanu - 
of poems Philadelphia has every reason to be proud of her ' Chri> 
Wheeler," not only for his present performance, in which he has celebrated 
her roads and her river, and her park, but more for the promise which his 
work shows. — Philadelphia Press. 

'l"he author invests his verse wth a romantic interest which is charm- 
ing, and it is in no way commonplace.— ^o^^'tv? Bicycling World. 

In some of the verses, as in the first verse of " Night Lights," there arr 
delicate indications that with study and experience Mr. Wheeler may writr 
something worthy to be called poetry. The young man that can writf 
* ^ * -St * * * * jig^j^ \^ j^jj-,-, v^oiiie poetic feeling and a clever turn 
of the hand. — Philadelphia Tiuies. 

" Chris Wheeler," of this city, has given abundant evidence in this, his 
first volume, that he posesses real poetic talent, though the good impression 
made by some of his poems and songs is marred by the introduction of 
others that might better have been left unpublished. There are many 
pretty conceits gracefully expressed, they have a healthful out-of-door 
atmosphere, and the descrijitive parts are like sketches from nature. 

—Philadelphia Public Ledger. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

Ami'.kicax Athlete Publishing Office, 
12 1 8 Filbert Sireet. 



^\a(LVJV^:>e.>^^^ f\v 



A 



THOUSAND MILES 



WITH 



The "Queer Quartette." 



BEING AN ACCOUNT OF 



A TRIP BY BICYCLE AND BOAT FROM THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA 

TO THE WHITE MOUNTAINS AND RETURN, 

BY WAY OF 



LAKES GEORGE AND CHAMPLAIN. 



CHRIS WM 




D ' p^i^n^ "^vS^j, 



JAN 26 1892 j / 



PHILA 

American Athlete Publishing Company, 

1 218 Filbert Street. 

1891. 



Copyrighted, 1891, 
By Chris Wheeler. 



PREKACE. 

Merely as a matter of form, and not by any means as a necessity, 
is the inevitable Preface placed here in its time-honored position. All 
that need be said is, that if the facts here related — and nothing but facts 
are related in this book — give pleasure to the friends for whom they are 
put into this form, then the object of the "Quartette" in thus boldly 
sending them abroad in print has been realized. 

CHRIS WHEELER. 

West Philadelphia, Nov. ist, 1891. 



A THOUSAND MILES 
WITH THE QUEER QUARTETTE. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE QUARTETTE. 

Before having anything to do with the " Thousand Miles," it may be as 
well to briefly introduce the " Queer Quartette " to those who feel enough 
interest in them or their doings to follow their wanderings as described in 
the following pages. 

The " Quartette " was composed of four Philadelphia cyclers, Mr. H. L. 
Roberts, Mr. Gilbert F. Wiese, and Mr. Arthur H. MacOweii, members of 
the Pennsylvania Bicycle Club, and Mr. Chester Roberts, a younger brother 
of the first-named gentleman. That they were a " Queer Quartette" will 
be sufficiently evidenced before their story is fully told, and a very brief 
personal mention of each in advance will suffice for the needs of a formal 
introduction. That a formal introduction is necessary is accounted for by 
the fact that Mr. Roberts, Sr., is a great stickler for the proprieties — this 
is not casting any reflection on the general make-up of Mr. Roberts, Jr., or 
the rest of the party — and he will no doubt feel more at his ease on being 
introduced as " Laurie," which Annie, one of his friends, will recognize 
as his distinctive pet name. He is tall and spare, and you would never 
take him to be a cycling traveler, but what his form lacks in volume it more 
than makes up in muscle. He wears whiskers when he permits and culti- 
vates their growth, and a mustache always ; the only things which he 
carries about with him as constantly and faithfully as the same mustache 
being his ever-present attribute of kindly good nature and an ever-ready 
ability to eat. One other feature of his personality must not be over- 
looked. His camera is as much a portion of himself as are his hands, only 
perhaps more so, for he never forgets that he owns a camera. Only one 
more of genial " Laurie's" good points need be noted— he has an eye for 
the ladies, and two eyes for the very pretty ladies, and when he divests 
himself of his hirsute chin ornaments it really does seem as though the 
ladies have a partiality for him. 

Perhaps we should have first introduced our youngest companion in arms. 
Chester Roberts is what a mutual male friend termed a " dandy," and 
what a gushing young lady defined as a " daisy." Exactly how the two 
terse summings up apply as describing accurately one individual is a prob- 
lem to be worked out by our readers, if they have the inclination and pos- 
sess the patience to follow the " Quartette " in its ramblings. Chester, 
who was the pet of the party, is a clean-cut, straight-limbed youth — no re- 
flection intended anent the limbs of the rest of the party — with the bud- 
ding promise of a blonde mustache, and with a fully developed sensi- 
bility as to the claims which everything beautiful and nearly everything 

5 



good has upon his attention. Chester is a little less spare and a little less 
tall than his elder fraternal traveling companion. He has a slightly scien- 
tific bent of mind, has read a book or two in his time, and can dance bet- 
ter than he can play tennis, which latter recreation he affects more than 
cycling. Possessing very taking ways, it early became evident to the 
other three-quarters of the " Qaartelte " thxt it would be advisable in 
choosing stopping places to select those at which the usual summer-resort 
state of things existed, viz., a multiplicity of the fair sex, and as much of a 
paucity as possible of the opposite one. However, taking him all in all, 
Chester was a very fair fellow, both in face and action, throughout the 
" Wanderings." 

" Say, Chester." 

A half-sleepy and wholly-tired " well," from Chester. 

"Good night, Chester." Gilbert F. Wiese formed the third fourth part 
of our '' Quartette," and if we indulged in the prerogative of a son of Hi- 
bernia, we would say, he constituted the biggest fourth of the whole. At 
any rate, he possessed the biggest voice, and whether rendering the sweet 
modulations of ''Annie Laurie," ''Steady Boys, Steady," or "Lassie 
Queenie," or whether howling to be allowed out of the salt water at New- 
port, on the first acquaintanceship of his life with it, his lung power could 
always assert itself over any two others of the " Quartette." '' Gilbert," 
or " Gil," which, remembering that brevity is the soul of wit and many 
other good things, is the name by which his friends know him, is tall and 
not spare, with a head and face molded on the lines of some of those old 
statues of Roman patricians — that is, it is round without being bullet- 
like — and with eyes which, although not Csesarean, would have stood their 
owner a fair show with Marc Antony in the good graces of Cleopatra, for 
'' Gil's" optics laugh as well as his lips. 

Gilbert never rode a bicycle until three months ago, and he never laid 
eyes on the ocean until he saw it at Coney Island on the first day of the 
"Quartette's" wanderings. But if in such matters his education was ne- 
glected, like individuals who lack the possession of any one or more of 
the senses, his mastery of other things is wonderful. Music hath charms 
for others than the untamed, of course, and certainly it hath charms for 
Gilbert. Only for his having to carry, most religiously, a package of 
cigarettes wherever he went, it is fair to suppose that his mandolin would 
have formed a portion of his traveling outfit. 

" Hope deferred maketh the heart sick," and we have no doubt but 
that our readers have been impatiently waiting to hear what the fourth 
party of the " Quartette " is like, therefore we hasten to relieve the impa- 
tient strain of expectancy by saying that we are an implicit believer in the 
truth of the old saying that ' the last is always best," and we think this is 
description enough of the writer. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE START. 

" Where are you going, my pretty maid ?" 

" To Coney Island, sir," she said. 

" What will j'ou do there, my pretty maid ?'' 

" Why I'll see what the world calls fun," she said. 

It had been the original intention to start from Philadelphia on July 4th, 
but two of the party being detained at the great meet held at Ilagersiown, 
Md., and the other two having ridden several times across New Jersey, it 
was decided to start from New York on July 5th, and leave the ride be- 
tween the two great cities of the eastern seaboard until the return trip, 
and thus preserve as much as possible the schedule of the ride as at fir^t 
laid down, one of the party having but two weeks at his disposal. 

Brightly gleamed the waters of New V^ork Bay as the huge ferry-boat of 
the Pennsylvania Railroad forged slowly out of her New Jersey dock, and 
slanted her pug nose across the broad bosom of the Hudson toward Cort- 
landt Street on the New York side. In the first row of passengers, crowd- 
ing as American passengers always will, to the front, so as to make time 
getting off, was the "Quartette," each with his bicycle, and each in the 
gray habdiments characteristic now of so many of our cycling clubs. In 
the front of three caps were three silver keystones resting on three little 
cross-bar squares of blue and gold ribbon, the former the emblem of the 
Pennsylvania Bicycle Club, the latter mementos of the Hagerstown 
Bicycle Meet at which the colors of '' Pennsy " had been carried in the 
fashion instanced. On two of the machines cameras were strapped, on 
one a tripod and "fixings" were securely lashed, and on every one was 
also a large bundle, encased in a waterproof cover. These bundles, aver- 
aging in weight 15 pounds each, with the cameras, constituted all the 
baggage considered requisite for a trip of from two to three wetks. 

'• Where are you bound for?" asked an old gentleman, who evidently 
voiced the wish on the part of the surrounding crowd to know where the 
squadron of heavy cavalry was bound for. 

" The White Mountains," was the answtr from the writer followed by 
the words, " and beyond," from Gil Weise. 

" What, on those things ?" said the questioner, elevating his eyebrows, 
and then he added, " and, how far beyond ?" 

Gil thought that perhaps he was counting his chickens, or, more pro- 
perly speaking, his miles before they were realized, so he said : 

" That depends, sir." 

" I should think it does. But I wish you a pleasant trip there and ' be- 
yond,' " said the old fellow, laying the least little bit of stress on the word 
" beyond." 

The crowd looked us all over as the boat ran into the slip, and, no 
doubt, many of them set us down as of the genus fools, which was rather 
rough on Gil Wiese, seeing that he formed, as before remarked, the big- 
gest quarter of the " Quartette." 

By boat and bicycle to the White Mountains, and as far "beyond" as 
possible, was the programme of our trip, and the afternoon of the 5th was 
to see us on board the palace steamer " Pilgrim," en route for Newport, 
Two of the party, strange to say, had not been in New York before, and, 

7 



of course, wanted to see everything from the Battery to the far end of 
Central Park. Such a programme being out of the question for one day, 
it was resolved to cross the city to the East River Bridge, then across this 
connecting link between the two great centres of what should be one me- 
tropolis, ride through Brooklyn to its beautiful Prospect Park, and from the 
Park by way of the splendid boulevard to Coney Island, the Brighton of 
New York. While conversant with all that makes Atlantic City the 
Brighton of Philadelphia, and, indeed, of a great portion of America, the 
'^ Quartette " were wholly ignorant of what Coney Island, which main- 
tains the same relationship with New York, was like, so the wheels were 
fronted eastward, and the softest Belgian blocks selected until the long 
rise to the magnificent aerial spans of the Brooklyn Bridge was reached. 
Over this monument to the engineering genius of the New World passes 
the great stream of travel between New York City proper and Brooklyn. 
Steam cars, all kinds of wheel vehicles, and pedestrians cross it, and from 
the central span, under which large ships can pass without stepping their 
topmasts, a splendid view is had of the two cities, the bay, islands, and 
shipping extending for miles in every direction. A halt was made on the 
centre of the structure, and the camera unstrapped. Along came a large 
three-master, a barque, and as she passed underneath our feet, the novel 
sight was caught and kept for reference by our photographer. Down the 
Long Island side of the bridge there is a slope that is good for a magnifi- 
cent coast, but several accidents having happened to cyclers who, deceived 
by what appears but a slight grade, allowed their machines to get from 
under control, the police have strict orders to prohibit coasting by wheel- 
men on the bridge. Being strangers we were sampling the lazy man's 
ride, when " wan of the force " politely informed us we were " brakin' the 
law," which offense was immediately condoned by braking the machines. 

The belgian blocks of Brooklyn are no better than those of New York 
or Philadelphia, and we had to cover quite a number of them before 
Schermerhorn Street was reached, and a few asphalt thoroughfares carried 
us to the entrance to Prospect Park, the pleasure-ground on which Brook- 
lyn prides itself. 

Without the ultra cultivation of Central Park, and without the wild, 
natural beauty of Fairmount Park, Prospect Park has a charm of its own, 
and approaches more the style of beautiful Druid Hill Park, in Baltimore, 
than do either the noted Nev/ York or Philadelphia pleasure grounds. A 
long and most enjoyable coast round the side of the lake sent us out 
toward the gate on the Coney Island side at a rapid rate, and then per the 
counsel of a local cycler, we followed the sidewalk all the way to Coney 
Island, a distance of some seven miles. The roadway is good enough, 
but rather cut up on account of the amount of driving done on it, and no 
objection is made to wheelmen using the footway, which, for the entire 
distance, is little better than the ordinary sidepath on a country road run- 
ning into a country town. 

Riding at a fast gait, we were just beginning to think the miles very 
long when the hotel buildings on the beach came into view ahead and in 
a very few minutes we were among them and in the precincts of the much 
talked about and lauded Coney Island. 

The said Coney Island is not a patch upon Atlantic City, except in the 
matter of running beer saloons and keeping concert gardens and theatres 
open on Sunday. In the matter of size and general make-up, it cannot 
compare with the great New Jersey summer resort, and to get anything of 
the better sort of entertainment in the line of creature comforts, as well as a 



moderate amount of ease or retirement, you have to cross over to Manhat- 
tan Beach or Brighton Beach. As for a board-walk, that is a thing the 
Coneyites don't have. 

" Everything goes," as the saying is, at Coney Island, week day and Sun- 
day. There is an endless variety of the stereotyped amusements which 
the great public never tires of. Merry-go-rounds, toboggans,- razzle-dazzle 
rides, shooting galleries, monstrosity shows, theatrical and acrobatic ex- 
hibitions, music, mixed with beer and other things, the big elevator, and 
the monster elephant, chance games of all descriptions, bathing in all its 
branches, and in all rigs, etc., etc., etc. 

A few pictures of scenes eminently typical of the most democratic of 
American holiday resorts were imperative and a few were secured, owing 
to the courtesy of Superintendent R. Schermerhorn, of the Prospect Park 
and Coney Island Railroad. 

It was within five minutes of sailing time when the " Quartette " pulled 
up at the wharf of the Fall River line of steamers, after pounding for a 
considerable distance over the New York belgians and cobble-stones, which, 
so far as softness and smoothness goes, are not a whit more pleasant to ride 
over than their brothers which make the streets of Philadelphia alike the 
terror of cyclers and carriage drivers and the pride of city councilmen. 

And now we have to recount a curious fact, but before recounting said 
curious fact, we will record an extremely gratifying one. Upon deciding 
to start from New York, we also decided to take the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road to that place, and both on the train and in Jersey City, the conductor 
and also the brakeman of the train, No. 4, were more than attentive, the 
former opening up a car in which were some of the Columbia College 
party returning after the boat race the previous day, and the latter waiting 
a quarter of an hour with us in the depot to see that we got our wheels and 
baggage on the elevators in the new mammoth terminus that we were 
strangers to. 

This was the gratifying fact, and now we will mention the curious one. 
The Fall River line charge fifty cents a wheel for the trip between New 
York and Newport. This seems curious since the large transportation 
companies carry wheels free. Each bicycle, with what we had on it, 
weighed less than the regular amount of baggage allowed passengers, and 
of course we handled them ourselves and they lay up in a corner side by 
side, taking up but little space, and giving no trouble to either the cloak 
room or parcel office. The Hudson River boats, on the contrary, do not 
make any charge for a man's bicycle, neither do the Lake Champlain 
steamers, so that when a party of wheelmen like the " Quartette " are on 
a trip it is questionable if it is policy to take the Fall River line if transport 
is required in the direction we followed. 



CHAPTER III. 

ON TO NE\yPORT. 

All aboard the " Pilgrim" 

Steaming fast and free, 
Over fair Long Island's 

Royal inland sea ; 
Jolly boat and cycle 

Pilgrims, four are we. 

Cloud-tops far to Westward 

Lose their amber light, 
Hill-tops off to Eastward 

Slowly fade from sight, 
Jolly boat and cycle 

Pilgrims say " Good night.'' 

Long Island Sound is a splendid sail by day, as it is a beautiful one by 
night when the moon lends its aid to enhance the charms of this beau ideal 
route between the metropolis and the large centres of New England. I 
have traveled it by day and by night, and when the queen of the dark 
hours dedicated to repose asserts her right to rule over the calm waters 
that stretch for 150 miles along the New York and Connecticut shores, the 
journey over the shimmering wavelets, is an experience which the most 
prosaic individual cannot make without experiencing some pleasure, be it 
great or small. 

The " Quartette," however, were not favored with the attention of " her 
most gracious majesty." Slowly the green slopes of Long Island grew 
more distant, slowly the village- fringed shore of Connecticut receded to- 
ward the west, and slowly the shadows dropped over a scene of water, 
sky, and woodland that is indeed very fair to look upon, while fast sped 
the great steamboat, the much-talked-about and truly palatial '* Pilgrim," 
toward the haven we desired to reach, the noted Newport. 

An adjournment to supper at half-past seven, developed the fact that, 
trip appetites were coming to the front, and introduced us to the storage 
capacity, fearful and wonderful in its make-up and extent, of '' our Laurie." 

Cigarette, stogie, and cigar helped to while away the hours on the upper 
deck after supper, and the strains of the really good orchestra, which is a 
feature of travel on this and all the boats of the Fall River line, found 
their way out of the windows of the main saloon, and set Gil Wiese sing- 
ing, or trying to sing, for, oppressed with the knowledge that he was on 
part and parcel of the ocean, our vocal light seemed more inclined to be 
meditative than musical. By degrees, what looked like low-lying stars 
peeped out along the water-line ; they were the lights on the fa- -away shore 
of Long Island, and ever and anon a cluster would appear on 
the opposite side showing where some town or village lay on the seaward 
edge of Connecticut, 

Owing to our late arrival we had failed to secure a state-room aboard, 
every one being taken, and about 10 o'clock, as the great waste of water 
continually passing away behind us commenced to grow tiresome in the 
darkness, almost simultaneously the question suggested itself to us all. Well, 
what are we going to do about it ? 

" Let's sit in the saloon all night," suggested Laurie. 

" Or on deck," put in Chester. 

10 



" Yes we will, I'm g;oing to get a bed somewhere if I pay double for it," 
chimed in Wiese. " I'll go ask the Captain," he added, jumping up as he 
spoke. 

We all commenced to laugh. 

" The Captain will refer you to the cook, Gil," said Laurie ; " suppose 
you try the steward." 

Gilbert went off, and had not been gone long when he returned jubilant 
and smiling, saying: 

" Hallo, boys ! let's all sing ' Rock me to sleep, Mother,' I've got the 
quarters, come see them." 

It is needless to say we were not slow in responding. 

" There's your couch, fit for an Ottoman Turk," said he, pointing to the 
upper floor of the grand saloon. 

We looked in astonishment along the corridor formed between the orna- 
mental woodwork covering in the engine space, etc., and the long row of 
state-room doors. On the floor were dozens of improvised beds, made up 
of a mattress, blanket, and pillow each, and most of them were already 
occupied, some with wakeful, others with most undoubted — from the noise 
they made — sleeping travelers. The whole scene looked more like what 
you would see in a hospital than what you would expect to see on a pal- 
ace steamboat. 

'• Any objection to sleep with your feet to the boiler, Chester?" said Gil, 
throwing off his coat. 

" None in the least, but it's not in there." 

'< Well, the inwards of the boat are, whether they are the boiler or not, 
I know there are no berths there, for I looked," said Gil. '' This is a free 
treat, boys, from the Captain, you don't pay anything for this kind of a sleep," 
he added, as we all commenced to turn in. 

This was the case. W^e paid nothing for our berth, and as we had to 
get off at two o'clock in the morning, at which time the steamer reached 
Newport, our missing getting a state-room was not such a severe affliction 
after all. 

" Newport, gents," shouted the colored steward, and with some grum- 
blings at the unearthly hour, we rubbed our eyes, sat up in our not uncom- 
fortable sleeping places, and took a look at the long lines of sleepers upon 
the floor. Then there was a hustle into our outside garments, which we 
had discarded for what was a short period of repose, and then a descent to 
the lower deck for our wheels. 

The big boat got slowly up alongside the wharf and in a few minutes 
we were once more on terrajirma, feeling very much as if we were stran- 
gers in a strange land, at two o'clock in the morning, and also feeling 
slightly chilly, owing to the sudden transition from our warm quarters 
aboard the boat to the cool air of a Rhode Island night. Obtaining our 
bearings from a wharfman, we followed about a quarter of a mile of 
thoroughfare to the Perry House. 

Our time being limited breakfast was ordered early, and then, by the ad- 
vice of the natives, we took in what is known as the " Ocean Drive," a 
magnificent stretch of macadamized road running for lo miles around 
the town and the coast adjoining. Passing the noted Casino and the 
Ocean View Hotel en route, we soon found ourselves among the villa resi- 
dences of the fortunate and wealthy, which inake Newport so well known 
in the realm ruled by money and fashion. The great Vanderbilt marble 
mansion, now in course of completion, loomed up on our left, and then 
after a mile or so, we ran out on the coast, and for several miles traversed 



a succession of small ups and downs, with an extended view of the sea to 
the left, and to the right, rocky hillocks, farm lands, and handsome summer 
residences. On returning to the town, Gilbert, who had never tasted the 
sweets of salt-water bathing, proposed that before dinner we should hunt 
up the beach and " go in." To reach the bathing place a mile had to be 
traversed a-wheel, and a local cycler who sported one of Sterling Elliott's 
hickory bicycles very kindly showed us the way, and then piloted us back. 
The rider of the hickory product of Newton, Mass., was very curious 
about the hickory " Common Sense " wheel that wherever our party 
went drew attention. While we enjoyed the salt water, he tried the Phila- 
delphia wooden wheel, and said he did not think the '' Quaker City " 
could be as slow as it was generally made out to be. Colder than the 
water at Atlantic City or the other New Jersey coast resorts, it was a try- 
ing ordeal to Gil on his first introduction to the embrace of Father 
Neptune. Although a capital swimmer, try how we would we could not 
induce the product of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers to go be- 
yond waist deep in the briny pool at Newport. 

" Is this what you call salt water, why it is as cold as ice water, ice 
water that you can't drink, too, that makes it worse ; I'm going out to wait 
for a better day," shouted he of river water education, and out he went, 
too. At a later date, however, when you got him in you could hardly get 
him out of the " ice water." 

The cottages at Newport are the great feature of the place, and they 
bear favorable comparison with the most pretentious of our rich men's 
suburban residences near Philadelphia, New York, or the other large 
cities. 

It was after three o'clock when we bade adieu to this noted watering 
place, with its beautiful harbor, its handsome residences, and its historic 
associations, in connection with the chequered early life of New England, 
and turning our faces northward took the road up the Island for Fall River, 
some i8 miles distant on the Massachusetts side. The sun shone with 
a little more good-will than was exactly comfortable, but from many points 
on the road we had glorious views of the beautiful land-locked stretch of 
blue water that forms the highway for vessels from the ocean to Fall River 
and Providence. The roadway itself was not bad, and no dismounts were 
in order until within a few miles of Fall River, where, after descending a 
long and rough surfaced hill, we tumbled into the unwelcome embrace of 
six-inch deep sand, which extended for a mile along the level of the water 
which some httle time before we had almost lost ourselves in admiring. 
There is nothing in this world either in the way of pleasure or pain that 
is not counterbalanced in some way or other by its opposite, although you 
may not always realize the fact. We fully realized that, in the wealth of 
sand which we had to sample, there was more than the balance to the 
pleasure we had derived from the splendid view over the sail-dotted and 
hill-girdled expanse of beautiful blue water. 

A causeway takes you across the narrow portion of the river or inlet, 
from the Rhode Island to the Massachusetts side, and then you are only a 
mile from the great manufacturing town of Fall River, and strike very fair 
roads until you run in on the belgian block pavement of the city proper. 
We entered the place just about the time that many of the mills were 
letting out their swarms of employees, and dusty as we were, and burdened 
with more than the ordinary amount of baggage carried by cycling strollers, 
the attention of the rank and file of cotton spinners, etc., was of necessity 
aroused. 



13 • 

The writer carried a valise strapped on the handle-bar of his machine, 
and the way that machine steered in consequence was, to descend to the 
vulgar, " a caution." In addition to the weight of mundane cares in the 
way of baggage, two of the party carried extra weight in the shape of the 
divine endowment of whiskers, and such attributes of cycling being evi- 
dently new to the unsentimental citizens of Fall River, most pointed and 
not very flattering remarks were passed, not sotto voce, either, by those se- 
verely practical sons of toil, and presumably true-blue Democrats, 

" Look at the man with whiskers riding a bicycle," shouted a young 
urchin, with a tin dinner-pail swinging in one hand while with the other 
he pointed with half glee, half ridicule at our dear old Laurie, riding over 
the hillocks of a not very good road. Everybody within hearing distance 
who was not looking looked at our little party on hearing this sally. Wiese 
burst out laughing, and shouted to our vanguard : 

" Laurie, you're a marked man ; hold up your head." 

The writer laughed also, and then laughed again, but the second time 
on the wrong side of his mouth, as the same shrill treble, prefacing his ex- 
clamation with an expletive, yelled : 

" Oh ! here's another on 'em with whiskers ; look at the portmantys, 
fellers ; get onto 'em. G', ain't they good uns." 

He was only a 12-year-old, and must have been English, by the way he 
spoke. While on the subject, I may add that the facial adornments of two 
of us seemed a fruitful source of pleasure to the dwellers in a number of 
places we,struck in this region of what we supposed to be one of the en- 
lightened divisions of this great United States. Whether they do not hold 
such things at their proper value or not, I cannot say, but, while the feel- 
ings of the writer were not exactly hurt, he could not help experiencing 
some disappointment at finding out that the education of the masses which 
Massachusetts brags so much about, is not all that it is cracked up to be. 

Ridmg into the centre of the town, which, by the way, is a large and 
prosperous one, with many fine mills and extensive manufacturing inter- 
ests, we commenced to look around for our hotel, and while eagerly scan- 
ning the names of streets, and looking for signs that would tell us whether 
the place was " prohibition " or not, a cycler hailed us and inquired if 
we wanted the L. A. W. stopping-place. On our answering yes, if it was 
a good house, he directed us to the Mellin House, and we had no 
reason to regret his kindiy courtesy, for we found the place eminently to 
our taste, and though the most pretentious hostelry in the town, it did not 
prove too much for our pocket-books. I make this remark because we had 
started out with half an idea of roughing it— that is, trying if we could not 
strike places en route after the order of the wayside inns of England, where, 
as a couple of us had experienced, man and beast are well entertained at 
generally preposterously low prices. Early on our trip, however, we gave 
up the idea of following this programme on this side the water, and 
when a town was struck Gil Wiese's first question always was, " Where is 
the Delmonico's of this city?" while good, patriotic old Laurie would 
chin in with, " No, Gil, no; not ' Del's.' What is ' Del's.' Where's the 
place that's the nearest thing to Boldt's that can be gotten in this centre of 
Eastern civilization ?" 

Well, we had fun, even if sometimes it was at the expense of the whis- 
kered battalion, and at the expense of Eastern education. 

After supper we strolled out to see what was going on without the hotel, 
and were scarcely 50 yards from our temporary home when we were ac- 
costed by one of the natives, who turned out to be a cycler like ourselves, 
and a member of the Fall River Bicycle Club. 



• H 

" Are you the gentlemen who are touring from Philadelphia ?" he asked, 
in a way that stamped him at once, not as an inquisitive Yankee, as we 
had been brought up to believe all Yankees are, but after a fashion that at 
once impressed us that he was a friend and a brother. 

An affirmative answer being given to his query, the next step was an 
introduction by him to several other gentlemen with whom he had been 
talking prior to our advent on the scene, and then an adjournment to the 
cozy quarters of the Fall River Bicycle Club, close at hand, where we 
found that body of active wheelmen in session, at their regular business 
meeting. They would by no means hear of our retiring, so we at once 
became part and parcel of the gathering, and heard the various little 
things touching the eligibility of this party and that prior to election to 
membership, which our own experience of club life in Philadelphia made 
so familiar to us. The meeting did not last long, and then we found what 
a nest of good fellows we had tumbled in amongst. We carry many 
pleasant memories of that evening's chat about old-time cycling experiences, 
and all the rest of those things wheelmen delight in raking up from the 
past, and won't forget in a hurry D. T. Johnson or Frank Nicolls or Frank 
Burgess, or the rest of them, and may we get to Fall River again some- 
time, even if some of the public school graduates did " get on to " per- 
sonal charms which they did not themselves possess. On parting from our 
friends — too early they said, but we had work before us next morning — 
nothing would do but that they should send a party to speed us on our 
way, and, sure enough, promptly on time, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Nicoll, and 
several other gentlemen dismounted at the hotel door next morning and 
informed us that we would not go astray for at least five miles out of 
Fall River. 

That morning ride was enjoyed by us all. The sun shone fiercely, but 
there were fair roads underneath us, and as the hour was shortly after 8 
A. M., and we were riding over a very fair road, and riding in very 
pleasant company, time flew fast, and the beautiful view of the splendid 
sheet of water along our left, fringed for miles with green-clad hills, rich 
woods, and numerous thriving mill centres and hamlets, flew by us all too 
quickly. Five miles outside Fall River our guides left us, carrying back 
with them our kindly feelings for unlooked-for favors from them, and 
leaving with us wheelmen's wishes for an enjoyable trip. 

The roadway from here on was what might be termed fair, it certainly 
was not good, but it was decidedly better than the experience we had be- 
yond Middleborough. I am anticipating, however. Our road lay through 
Myrickville, and the total distance to Middleborough by the route followed 
was something over 21 miles. A few miles outside the town, the glancing 
of water through the trees which bordered the roadside caught the eye of 
the ever-watchful Gilbert, and with the idea of a swim being within reach, 
he dismounted and proceeded to investigate. The result of the explora- 
tion was the discovery of a beautiful little sheet of water, its shore about 
200 yards from the roadside, and into its cool depths the " Quartette " 
tumbled before you could say " Jack Robinson." The first man who found 
bottom thought his days were numbered. The finder of the bath and the 
first man in, ' fresh-water Wiese," stuck a whole foot and half a leg 
into what it was reasonable to suppose was mud, at any rate, his roar to the 
rest of us on no account to try for bottom, showed that, whatever our ex- 
perience of the morning had been, walking just then was not very good. 
The programme therefore was, dive in from the old ice slip, keep oft" the 
grass or mud, and scramble out on the end of the slip as well as you could. 



IS 

One towel and two sponges were all the bath-room paraphernalia the party 
had to fall back on, except the little looking-glass in Chester's handle-bar 
bag, and a cake of soap in Laurie's pack, which latter we did not like to 
soil the water with, as it was very clear before we went into it, and not any 
perceptibly less clear when we left it, although Gilbert did try and stir up 
what he said was three feet of a mud bottom. This swim put an extra edge 
on our appetites, and we bore down on Middleborough for the regular mid- 
day attack on the best hotel in the town. 

T^iding into the place we struck a cycler, who in the same breath di- 
rected us to the hotel and informed us that he was not the League Con- 
sul for the place, although he ought to have been, the fellow holding that 
enviable position being of no account. This little incident set us thinking 
how men were much the same all the world over. Why he should volun- 
teer to us, perfect strangers and uninterested parties, the inside of things 
cycling in Middleborough at a minute's notice, and berate the League offi- 
cial of the place, without our having some terrible grievance to relate, 
shows what sentimental nonsense in regard to cycling matters still lingers 
with wheelmen. Our new friend evidently had as good an opinion of him- 
self as he had a poor one of the other fellow. 

Middleborough is not much of a place, but we got a fair dinner at, I 
think, the Newmarket House. 

Before leaving for Plymouth, we heard the most doleful stories of the 
badness of roads leading to that place, and as long as we were going to 
Boston, the universal advice was, leave Plymouth alone and go on to Bos- 
ton through Taunton and the good roads of that region. 

We were deaf to this advice, however. It was true that at Boston a trip 
could be taken by steamer round the coast to Plymouth, but we were within 
1 8 miles of the place, and, as Laurie said, " We'll get to the Rock, boys, to- 
night, if we walk the best part of the way." 

The route chosen was to the left of the direct way. Through Carver is 
the shortest way from Middleborough to the coast, but if you go through 
Carver you also go through sand, which although not spelled with a big 
'' S," on general occasions, is a bigger place than Carver to cyclers who 
ride through that locality. We followed a northern course to Plympton 
and North Plympton, and ran into Kingston, four miles above Plymouth 
on the coast, from which place into Plymouth runs a fine stretch of macad- 
amized road. Before reaching Kingston, owing to the solicitation of Gil, 
we took a road ''through the woods " recommended to us among a dozen 
others by no doubt well-meaning but cruel friends. Gil is the very mis- 
chief on roads " through the woods," as some of the party on a 1 de cycling 
excursion to Washington can testify, and he "hollers," too, before he gets 
out of them. On the occasion of the woods near Kingston, however, his 
'' hollering " — it was not singing — of popular ditties of the order of " Sweet 
Violets," and inducing the rest of us to sing, did one good thing, it pre- 
vented very much swearing being done, and it was just as well such was 
the case, as our vocabulary in the line of " cuss words " required husband- 
ing for occasional use later on. 

Well, we got out of the woods — walking, mind you — and dropped right 
off on a good macadamized road, which it is fair to suppose would have 
been cultivating the acquaintance of our tires long before had we not; 
gone "walking" with Wiese through the woods. Everybody looked at 
the road, and — held their peace. 

While we held our peace, however, the clouds which had been gather- 
ing all day refused to hold water, and just as the pretty homes of Kingston 



i6 

came into sight, down came a heavy shower, and we went out of sight in 
a big barn. This was our first experience of rain on the trip, and, while 
considering ourselves lucky, we did not relish the idea of being but four 
miles from our destination, and with the best piece of road struck during 
the day, getting its face washed to our discomfort. Moreover, was not sup- 
per ahead, and were we not hungry ? An old lady who had been working 
around after eggs, or something in that line in the barn, volunteered the 
information that the rain would last all night, so donning coats, a race was 
made of it into Plymouth. 

The road runs along the high ground overlooking Plymouth Bay, and 
away out to the left, standing boldly up on its promontory height, we could 
see the monument to Miles Standish looming through the mist. The rain 
moderated about a mile outside the town, and we ran in, laboring more 
against the disability of mud than of falling water. No decision had been 
made as to where we should stop, and it was just as well, for the Fall 
River experience was enacted over again, a League member directed us to 
the Central House as being the L. A. W. hotel, and then, scarcely had 
we turned to make for the neighborhood of supper when, a member of the 
Plymouth Bicycle Club came up, and in the most friendly way offered 
the use of the club-house to store our wheels during our stay. This offer 
was of course accepted, and then Charles G. Bradford and A. E. Lewis, of 
the Plymouth Club showed us our hotel, and left word they would see us 
again. This was treatment that savored of the good old days when wheel- 
men were few and far between, and the " wheel " was necessarily a pass- 
word to good-fellowship — and, by the way, who says that the L. A. W. is 
of but little account ? Probably only the cyclers who sit at home at ease, 
and who do not work for the good cause beyond cavilling at the men 
who do for the interests of cycling the very best they can. 

While the '' Quartette" dried off and had supper — and it was a good 
one, too, that host E. J. Shaw provided — the rain came harder than ever, 
and the idea of going out to sample the sights of the old Paritan town was 
about given up when our new friends from the Plymouth Club appeared, 
and informed us that we were booked to go to the Armory, where the first 
concert of the season would be given by the Regiment Band, and where 
a dance would wind up the occasion. Chester jumped at the word dance, 
but a blue look stole over his face as he heard the added news, 
" All the town will turn out, lots of pretty girls, find you all partners, 
no trouble." Chester's countenance was clouded, he was looking at his 
rubber-soled shoes. Rubber soles or no rubber soles, we went to the con- 
cert, and listened to the strains of a band that has gained more than a 
local celebrity under the baton of E. Thurston Damon, well-known in 
Boston as a leader of ability. And after the universally popular " skirt 
dance " had been rendered to an encore — fancy the grave Puritans of 
the long-ago Plymouth encoring a skirt dance — our Gil and our Chester 
shook a foot around the big armory with some very tangible skirts, and 
the writer held the caps of the party, with all the silver Keystones facing 
one way and toward the optics of the Plymouth brethren, on the floor 
and in the galleries. 

Poor Chester, his prettiest young lady, whatever she may have thought 
of the wearer, she did not think much evidently of rubber-soled shoes, 
for she went out of the room on the arm of " a handsomer man !" no, on the 
arm of her mother. Good night, Chester. 



CHAPTER IV. 

PLYMOUTH AND ON TO BOSTON. 

Heroic sleepers on yon classic mound, 

That watches ever by the outer edge 
Of this New World, which at your coming found 

More than a dream fulfilled, and a high pledge 
Of Heaven's good-will toward man, ye reck not 

That I stand on this fair shore 
And gaze with reverent awe on that which speaks 

To me, and will speak evermore 
To all who owe allegiance to this land, 
To all who dwell on proud Columbia's strand, 
Or plain, or mount, of the great boon that ye 
Wrested from fate and evil days, and placed 
Free at the feet of all humanity, and graced 
The records of the fuller and completer earth 
With a true God-like gift, when giving birth 
To a new life that throws its glorious span 
Ungauged across the future lot of man. 

Heroic sleepers, we your children stand 

Here on the edge of our great fatherland, 

And, while the breeze of this New England blows 

Over yon mound, and while the great tide flows 

Forward and back, on ocean's heaving breast. 

Turn we from where in sweet and hallowed rest 

Sleep of our country's founders, ye, the noblest and the best. 

Plymouth, Mass. What associations crowd themselves on all those who 
take an interest in the land in which they live when the name of that little 
New England coast town is mentioned. To the average American a visit 
to Plymouth will always be interesting if he does not choose to make it 
instructive. 

The scene of the early trials and struggles of those heroic souls who 
for conscience' sake left home and country and went forth to found a na- 
tion, will ever be held sacred by their descendants, now enjoying the 
legacy left by them, the greatest and most valuable that man can leave to 
man, the legacy of freedom. 

It may be that those rugged old forefathers of the America of to-day 
did not realize the stupendous work they were inaugurating. It may be 
that their legacy, curiously enough, was born under auspices and had its 
first nurturing amid associations that were as intolerant and as undesirable 
as the manners and methods which had driven them to take up a work 
which all the world honors them now for putting their hand to without 
looking back. This may all be true, but no matter for the temporary 
working garb, the work was done and done well, and while the " Pilgrim 
Fathers," and the Pilgrim Mothers, too, sleep calmly on that green hill 
by the Massachusetts shore, their names are being handed down through 
the centuries as honored creators of the nation. 

The rain fell heavily during the whole night of our stay in Plymouth, 
and for half of the next day, Wednesday. What could we do except eat 
as much as possible at breakfast, smoke a cigar or two, look out of the 
hotel windows, and wish for some religious works — we had read the 
papers — to while away the time. Toward lo o'clock the rain grew 
lighter, and, borrowing a few umbrellas, we accepted the invitation of a Mr. 
H. W. Loring to go round to his club, the Plymouth Club, I think — at any 
3 17 



rate it is the big social club of the town, to which most of the business men 
belong. Here, ensconced in comfortable quarters, several gamis of whist 
put us over the time until nearly noon, when our hospitable new acquaint- 
ance wrote out an order for our admission to the Loring Co.'s tack factory, 
and through the mud we sallied down to ?ee what was a most interesting 
sight. The making of tacks is quite an industry in Massachusetts. By 
this time the clouds were breaking away over toward Duxbury, and the 
tall column erected to the old hero, Mdes Standish, commenced to stand 
out black against the gray sky, and the word was dinner first and the 
" Rock " and patriotism after. The rain had not spoiled our appetites, 
and, when these were sitisfied, a climb to the summit of the forefathers' 
burying-ground, on the hill in the centre of the town, followed. Here the 
moldering headstones, boasting the wonderful antiquity for young America 
of several hundred years, were inspected, as no doubt they have been 
many and many times by interested pilgrims like ourselves, and then, 
bundles were once more strapped on machines and the journey renewed, 
with the historic " Rock '^ for our first stopping-place. 

" Is that Plymouth Rock ?" said Gilbert, as we rode up, dismounted, and 
deposited our machines at the foot of the hill rising from the place 
where the historic piece of stone rests under its monumental granite cov- 
ering. 

" That's it," said Laurie, commencing to unstrap his camera ; " what did 
you expect to find?" 

" Why I thought it would be a big rock standing up out of the water 
yonder, but that's only a big stone, and it's cracked, too, and plastered up." 

" Well, better have it plastered up than falling to pieces. I expect you 
want a ' Holy Coat of Treves' kind of antiquity, Gilbert,'' said Chester. 

'' Look at the peanuts, boys !" suddenly cried Laurie, almost dropping 
his camera ; '' look at them, never mind the rock and the plaster, Gil, go get 
some of those peanuts." 

'' I have not seen a peanut since I left good old Philadelphia," said 
Chester. And forthwith he went over to the basket man vending the pre- 
cious product of American forests, and laid in a stock of the delicacy dear 
to the hearts and palates of the masses. 

Of all the things that the writer abhors in the way of shell commodities 
it is peanuts. Their taste is pretty nearly as bad as their smell, when the 
live charcoal has squeezed out of them that which to the bulk of Philadel- 
phia's citizens is a fragrance to which the odor of the rose of Sharon or of 
Childs' is as nothing. Peanuts! deliver me from them, whether they are 
securely bagged up in pint lots on the costermonger's tray on Market 
Street, or whether they are in the pocket of some belated traveler on one 
of the night-line cars, or whether they are reposing in the lap and busying 
the fingers and the facial make-up of some fair creature who has petitioned 
you to " Oh ! do, now, get me a few peanuts, please do." Peanuts ! faugh, 
take them away, ye degenerate members of the " Quartette." I will take 
instead a pretzel and a mug of Milwaukee as my portion, while I sit here 
and gaze on this historic stepping-stone to fame if it was not to fortune. 

When we got done looking at the rock we mounted our machines and 
then the hill, and bidding adieu to our friends of the Plymouth Club, 
Messrs. Skinner, Bradford, and Lewis, proceeded on our way toward 
Kingston, to stop en route and view the noted Forefathers' Monument. 
This nrnss of granite stands on the top of a hill back from the town, and 
overlooking the waters (3f the harbor and the spot whereon the forefathers 
landed. It consists of a massive pedestal, and on it the figure of a female 



19 

wrought out of granite, and facing seaward. It is said to be the largest 
granite statue in the world, and from its heroic pose and lonely situation, 
on the brow of an eminence devoid of timber, it has a weird fascination 
for the visitor, in keeping with the generally gray and stony landscape, and 
the checkered fortunes of those whose story it perpetuates. On the sides 
of the pedestal are representations in marble relief, covered with glass, of 
episodes in the dramatic story of the Pilgrim Fathers, and above these are 
tabulated the names of the forefathers, and of the white-winged ancient 
sailers of the ocean, on which they braved "the dangers of the seas." 

The Forefathers' Monument was the last thing of interest we saw in 
Plymouth. Down the hill and along the good road into Kingston was the 
word, leaving on the right the memento to Miles Standish, which we had 
not time to travel to, and then at 4 p. m. the programme was on to Boston. 

And to Boston we went, over roads that, although in Massachusetts, 
were none of the best for wheelmen to travel over. Through Kingston, 
Duxbury, Marshfield, and Hanover to Weymouth. We must have taken a 
rather roundabout way, for the inner man was complaining, and it was 
seven o'clock when we drew up at the hotel in Weymouth and demanded 
supper. Weymouth is a good step out of Boston, I want you to know, 
when you make an eight o'clock start in the evening. A 12-mile ride on 
Lancaster Pike after dark is all right, but into Boston through Braintree, 
Quincy, Neponset, and Dorchester Avenue, with its miles of Belgian block 
pavements and its hordes of hooting gamin?, is not by any means fine rid- 
ing. We reached our stopping place, the United States Hotel, about 10 p. m. 

As this history does not pretend to be a guide-book, little need be said 
about the good old city of Boston, beyond that in it we found all that we 
expected, and much more. 

We expected to find an extraordinary amount of ultra-cult, and we found 
it, even to the extent of discovering a waiter at the United States Hotel 
who would insist upon prefacing what he considered perhaps as attentive 
queries with the words, " Will you gentlemen be pleased to ?" etc., etc. 

And we found more than the evidences of a general good education 
with which the inhabitants of the '' Hub " are credited. We found in the 
harbor the " White Squadron," and our desire to see what '' Uncle Sam's " 
pretty ships looked like tempted us to take a sail on the placid waters of 
Boston Harbor, and on deciding to do this, we killed two sights on the 
one sail, and went on to the well-known Nantasket Beach, which is to 
Boston what Coney Island is to New York or what Atlantic City is to 
Philadelphia. 

When you want to go to Nantasket from Boston, if you are a stranger 
in the "Hub," you had better tackle one policeman after another until 
you find one who can direct you to Rowe's Wharf, and whea you have 
found the well-informed " mimber of the force," you will attentively listen 
to him while he says, with an assumption of most intense gravity, " Yis, 
I'll tell yez. Yez'll be afther goin' down this next sthreet here, an' turn to 
the roight there, de yez see, an' thin down to the roight ag'in, an' yer 
roight there." 

When you get your directions the trouble only begins, for you have to 
adhere to them strictly, or, ten chances to one, you will come right on top 
of the same policeman inside of ten minutes, and on tackling him the 
second or third time his Hibernian astuteness is aroused, and you stand a 
good chance of being " run in " as a suspicious character. 

Our sail to Nantasket Beach was a most enjoyable one. The " White 
Squadron " of the United States Navy happened to be lying off the city, 



io 

and a sham fight, embracing an attack on Deer Island, was on deck the 
day we sampled the blue waters of Boston Hc^rbor. Hundreds of craft 
were out to see the evolutions of the men-of-war, and numerous excur- 
sion steamers, loaded down with people, were passed by our boat as we 
steamed toward the old town of Hull, en route to Nantasket. 

Rowe's Wharf is named after John Rowe, who is famed as being the 
citizen who proposed making the first revolutionary cup of tea in Boston 
Harbor. 

'' Who knows how tea will mingle with salt water," said stout old John 
Rowe on December i6lh, 1773, and shouts of laughter rang through the 
classic shadows of the Old South Church, where Boston's citizens were in 
meeting. 

On leaving the wharf you pass first Thompson's Island, then Fort Inde- 
pendence, the stone walls and black guns of which the writer had not seen 
for over 20 yeafs. Then you run by Spectacle Island, Long Island, the 
curious pile of stones known as Nix's Mate, Deer Island, Gallop's Island, 
Rainsford Island, and a number of other patches of land surrounded by 
the generally quiet waters of the harbor. 

The steamer stops at the old town of Hull, once a place of importance, 
but now more noted as a suburban resort for Boston people than as a sea- 
port, and shortly after you enter the winding Weir River and run up to the 
wharf at Nantasket Beach. The beach is on the opposite or ocean side 
of the neck of land on which you disembark, and immediately on. setting 
foot ashore you are assailed by a couple of dozen " Jehus," monarchs of 
the lumbering coaches attached to the numerous hotels and restaurants and 
all offering rides free to their different hostelries, where you can get the 
biggest dinner, clam-bake, or otherwise for the moderate sum of 50 cents. 
We gave them all the cold shoulder, however, and walked across to the 
region of hotels, merry-go-rounds, fortune-tellers, and bathers. There were 
but few bathers in. It was, however, too good a chance to be missed, and 
inside of a few minutes Gil Wiese was once more tasting the sweets of 
salt water wetness. This time he was all right, and a crowd of a couple 
of hundred people soon assembled along the beach to watch the antics of 
the " Queer Quartette." 

Of course we did the sights in Boston, visited Bunker Hill, the Old 
South Church, the historic Common, Trinity Church, Commonwealth Ave- 
nue, and the hundred and one other places of interest which this old " hot- 
bed of sedition" boasts. 

Everything went along smoothly, except that Gilbert imagined every one 
was looking at his shapely calves, and he felt uncomfortable, accordingly, 
just in proportion to the amount of admiration with which he suppoc.ed 
certain persons viewed his handsome nether proportions. It was useless to 
try and persuade him that if there was any interest awakened by our ap- 
pearing on the streets of aesthetic Boston in cycling guise, he did not most 
certainly monopolize it all. No ! he would insist ifpon it that he was 
the cynosure of all eyes, and that there was never a ballet placed upon the 
stage or seen off it, that created such a ripple of excitement as did Gil 
Wiese when he favored Tremont or Washington Streets with a sight of 
his muscular development encased in Quaker gray. Nothing would do 
but that he should get a pair of pantaloons, and all honor to well-known 
courteous Harry Gill, of the '' United States," who took the unfortunate 
traveler to his room and gave him the selection from six pairs of trousers. 
Gil thought none of them just the thing, but chose one pair that, if hitched 
up as they ought to have been, or as Providence and the tailor intended 



21 

them to be, would have come six inches above his shoe-tops. It can be 
easily understood, if not seen, therefore, that M^hen Gilbert effaced the six 
inches of space at the bottom by a lowering process, the upper regions as- 
sumed a relationship that the same Providence and the tailor never de- 
signed them for ; consequently, when good old Gil walked the streets, he 
looked very much like an old alderman with a very young face on him, 
and no one would ever have taken him for a trim-built " Pennsylvania" 
boy. But Gilbert could not see it, because he could not see them — the 
"pants." 

We could have spent a much longer time in Boston than we did to con- 
siderable profit, but, not being millionaires in the matter of time, which 
commodity, according to every accepted authority, is nothing more or less 
than money, it was deemed expedient to cut our visit short and seek some 
eminence of greater altitude than Bunker Hill Monument, somewhere out- 
side the town from whence we might perchance get even a momentary 
glimpse of anything that would look like the White Mountains. 

Talking of Bunker Hill, it might be incidentally mentioned that if any 
readers of this sketch want a taste of something unique in the line of 
music or noise, let them, if they ever ascend the tall column that dominates 
Charlestown, stick their heads, to the number of three or four, through the 
apertures that open into the well inside the monument and howl " Annie 
Laurie " with all their might. 

The last view of Boston was a bird's-eye one. Ascending to the roof of 
the new Old Colony Trust Company's building, we gazed across the great 
mass of brick and mortar spread below us and over the thousands of towers, 
steeples, and chimneys and numberless white filmy puffs of steam, floating 
away into nothingness, and denoting that the great pulse of the city was 
beating with all its accustomed health and regularity. Over the blue waters 
of the harbor, with its disfigurements of old black hulks and its adorn- 
ments of white-winged flyers, over the heights of Charlestown, with the 
tall obelisk marking the historic battle-ground on Breed's Hill, cutting 
clear against the sky and over distant Chelsea, which we were to pass 
through within an hour on our way to Lynn and Salem. The view from 
this great sky-scraper among the many big buildings of Boston made up 
for us a quartette of such experiences during various cycling trips. We 
had, of course, sampled the magnificent vista across two States and one 
great river, seen from the roof of the vast pile of marble known in Phila- 
delphia as the Drexel Building, and gazed with admiration across the wide 
expanse of fair Lake Michigan, and over the wilderness of smoke and 
steam and seething humanity that make up Chicago, from the tower of the 
mass of granite known as the Auditorium Building, and also feasted our 
eyes, with more admiration than at any of the other places, on the glorious 
panorama where the city of New York joins hands with Brooklyn and 
Jersey City, and where the noble Hudson loses its grand identity in the 
embrace of old ocean ; and the Boston view from the top of her latest and 
most pretentious mercantile building made a fitting fourth to the other 
three. 

A League member, resident in Chelsea, whom we met on the ferry-boat 
going over to that place, and to whom we got talking about roads and one 
thing or another, offered to go to his house and get us his Massachusetts 
road-book, but we showed a very neatly written bulletin of directions as 
far as Portsmouth, N. H., which we had obtained from Mr. A. D. Peck, 
who, in the office of the Pope Manufacturing Co., in Boston, is the recog- 
nized Moses in the matter of roads and routes round the " Hub," and 



when our Chelsea friend heard that " Peck had fixed us," he seemed to 
think that the road-book would be superfluous, and just then up came 
N. U. Walker, also from the big cycling emporium on Franklin Street, 
and we left Boston, therefore, under very pleasant auspices. Before go- 
ing further, however, we will take the opportunity of telling any cycling 
traveler who may want information touching Massachusetts roads, to call 
when in Boston on A. D. Peck, at the Pope Manufacturing Co.'s office, 
and they will find a courteous gentleman and a well-informed wheelman, 
who, as he did for us, will only be too willing to do all he can in the way 
of affording any information desired. 

Following directions, our road from the ferry led us out Winnisemmett 
Street to Everett Avenue to Woodland Cemetery, and thence through Sau- 
gus to Lynn. It was about six o'clock when we left Boston, and there was 
a disposition on our part to stop for supper in the ''Shoe City," but know- 
ing that Salem was not much more than an hour's ride it was decided to 
push on and have our evening meal in the oldest settlement of any size in 
New England. Through Swampscott, therefore, we went, and on the road 
picked up a couple of Lynn riders out for an evening spin, who took us 
along at a slapping pace and informed us that the good road over which 
we were traveling was a favorite run from Boston and Lynn. Salem is 
only 20 miles from Boston, and, as we debouched into the splendid wide 
avenue, lined with noble trees, which takes you to the business portion of 
the town from the Boston side, we could partly realize why it is that dwell- 
ers in this pretty place are so much attached to it, Salem was at one time 
of considerable importance as a port. It possessed one of the finest har- 
bors on the Atlantic seaboard, and its merchants and traders were industri- 
ous and to a certain extent enterprising. But the more go-ahead and pro- 
gressive city of Boston stepped in and drew nearly all the trade of this old 
place to itself, and now, while many of the citizens continue to reside 
in Salem they carry on business in its near-by old-time rival. 

The Essex House was our destination, and, although somewhat late, sup- 
per was fixed up for us in good style and we enjoyed it after what had 
been a smart ride in fi'om Boston. 

With its many historical associations of colonial days, Salem would have 
been an interesting spot to have stopped in for a day or so, but as our des- 
tination was ''beyond," an early start the next morning was agreed upon. 
A trip to '' The Willows " — not much of a place at night — was taken, per 
electric cars, and on our return to the hotel we found a former Philadelphia 
rider, Mr. Snyder, waiting to see us. A pleasant chat with this gentleman 
and two or three other Salem riders filled in an hour before bed-time, and 
one of our new friends, Mr. Geo. E. Allen, very kindly proffered his ser- 
vices as guide to take us out of town the next morning. 

We had arranged to do what we did not more than twice on the trip, 
viz., start before breakfast, and bright and early the next morning, as the 
clock struck half-past seven, our Salem friend appeared and the " Quar- 
tette," with their guide, turned their backs on the pretty New England 
town and took the road for Ipswich and breakfast. This road was a good 
one, and we had promise of an excellent highway all the way to Newbury- 
port, which promise was fulfilled. 

Breakfast at Ipswich put us in good form, and, bidding adieu to our 
obliging Silem riding companion, we struck out over the " warranted good 
road " to Newburyport. 

This road is certainly an excellent one, and offers a great contrast to the 
highways which further south had been the medium of our reaching Ply- 



23 

mouth. The road surface being first-class, the run into Newburyport, about 
the same distance from Ipswich that the latter is from Salem, was made 
ahead of dinner-time, and our ride of about 21 miles not having made us 
sufficiently hungry to induce a wait for the mid-day meal, forward was the 
word, and forward we went some 10 miles to Hampton, where a halt was 
called at the Whittier House. Here the proprietor, Mr. O. H. Whittier, 
who is, I believe, some connection of the poet, J. G. Whittier, treated us 
in good shape, and on the broad porch of the hotel a most comfortable 
lounge after dinner repaid us for waiting to satisfy the inner man in so 
pretty a place. The camera did good service here in catching an old stage- 
coach and a farmer's wagon with a team of oxen, as well as a bevy of fair 
tennis players who were making things lively on the couits next the house. 
According to advice from parties staymg at the hotel, we determined to 
strike off to the coast, not more than a few miles distant to the right, and 
see Rye Beach and whatever of interest was thereabouts. Before leaving 
the hotel, however, and while sitting on the porch, after the two cameras 
had been made to capture the surrounding vistas, an amusing incident oc- 
curred. Chester had picked up an old, tattered copy of the New York 
Herald and was lazily picking out scraps of reading, when suddenly he 
gave vent to what was a young shout, and called to Wiese, who was en- 
joying a cigarette at the other end of the porch. 

'' Hallo! Gil," he shouted, "they've got you in the New York Herald. 
What do you think of that ?" 

" What do you mean ? where did they hear about us ?" said Gil, coming 
over. 

" Us ! I didn't say us," said Chester. " I said you ; here you are as large 
as life, and such a description. I'll keep this paper if I have to steal it 
from the house here. Listen, Laurie, haven't they got Gil down fine in 
' Gotham ?' " And forthwith Chester, who could hardly read for laughing, 
gave us the following, and it was a study to watch Gilbert's face while the 
verse was being read. 

He came from somewhere inland, 

From Pittsburgh, I surmise. 
And down along the Jersey coast 

He strayed with bulging eyes ; 
He saw the dainty maidens 

Among the wavelets slosh, 
And when at last he oped his mouth 

He simply said, " Begosh !" 

—Nen, York Herald. 

A roar of laughter all round greeted the above, and the paper was care- 
fully put away by Chester, who thought he had got one in on Gil, who was 
never tired of teasing him as to his methodical tying-up of bundles and 
taking up time, whether in the matter of getting up in the morning or 
getting on his wheel after a meal. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE MASSACHUSETTS AND NEW HAMPSHIRE COASTS. 

Blue is the ether and blue is the sea, 
Brushing the wave-tops winds blow free, 
Sunshine is slanting on sails afar. 
Tacking for Portsmouth's Harbor bar. 
Away in the east the " Shoals " lie low, 
Like a cloud too timid its face to show. 
You can see the rise of the land no more 
From the ragged back of the " Little Boar ;" 

And you wish that you knew 

All the tales that to you 
When you stood on that bluff. 

The bold winds blew 

From the " Shoals " away off shore. 

Leaving the village of Hxmpton, the road we followed led us to Hamp- 
ton Beach, a fine stretch of open coast, and quite a resort for bathing and 
all-round sea-shore pleasures, without the assistance of Coney Island's 
conventional attractions. The same may be said of Rye Beach, further 
on, and to reach which we had to go back on our tracks and travel by 
way of Litde Boar's Head. 

Though it has a large name, this is a small place, but it is an exceed- 
ingly pretty one. We were now on the New Hampshire coast, and, as 
the road suddenly took a bend to the left and disclosed to us an unbroken 
view of the great blue ocean, stretching miles and miles outward and to 
left and right, a simultaneous shout went up from and a dismount was 
made by us all. The many beautiful residences which make up the town 
or hamlet of Little Boar's Head are all situated on high ground, over- 
looking the sea, with a wealth of green sward and trees round and back 
of them. Away below the waves roll lazily and curl round the rocks in 
wavy masses of foam, except when they dash and roar with all the force 
born of their ocean vantage, urged on by angry winds from seaward. 
Everything was serene and beautiful, however, when we paused to admire 
the grand vista of rock and water. Never was sea more blue. Talk of 
your Mediterranean skies and sea, they are equalled and surpassed by 
what we have on this side of the Atlantic. 

Allowing the machines to rest against the fence, the four of us climbed 
over and lay along the brow of the bluff overlooking the water. Away out 
to sea and to the left could be seen the Isle of Shoals, famous as a summer 
resort. Several islands make up "The Shoals," and steamers ply the 
distance between them and the mainland, about lo miles, several times a 
day. It was not without great reluctance we left so charming a spot. 
Accustomed to the low-lying sandy shores of New Jersey, it was a rare 
treat to find ourselves on a veritable rocky coast, and the little taste we 
were getting of it, recalling old times to at least some of us, made strong 
the longing for even the least little taste of the rugged shores of Maine. 
Gilbert, of course, had never seen anything like it, and as we lay looking 
out to sea, under the blue sky and the warm sunlight, his thoroughly un- 
biased judgment was summed up in the remark : 

" Well, boys, you may talk about your ' Coney Islands,' ' Nantaskets,' 
or Atlantic Cities, but give me some place like this. I could live here for 
two weeks without any trouble." 

24 



25 

" Yes, if somebody else were here too, Gil. In which case you might 
stay two weeks and a half or longer," said Laurie. 

*' What time is it, Gil ?" queried Chester. 

" It's just five," replied Gilbert, consulting his watch. 

" Then it's time to start. I thought you would like a reminder, Gil," 
and Chester looked what might be termed a smile at the balance of the 
quartette, while Gilbert looked again at the dial of his time-piece, at least 
that is what he appeared to look at. Chester told us afterward that when 
he wanted to put Gil in a good humor he always asked him what time it 
was, and as we had noticed that there was a picture of some sort or other 
in the said watch, we gave Chester credit for z. finesse that before then we 
did not know he possessed. 

The roads round this region are simply superb, both as to surface and 
location. The surface is macadam, and good macadam, too, and round 
Little Boar's Head and Rye Beach they lead you a trip in full view of 
old ocean, and yet in close proximity to all that makes country life amid 
green fields and trees so enjoyable. One of the finest hotels in the way of 
a summer resort that we struck on our trip was the Farragut House at Rye 
Beach, Superb in its appointments, both in-door and out-door, by general 
consent the '' Quartette," only for what was "beyond " would have liked 
to have settled down for a couple of weeks' "stay at this grand old house, 
with its charms of country and seashore, its pleasures of the ball-room 
and tennis court and coaching roads thrown so luxuriously and lavishly 
together. But the Farragut House, with its charms of location and society 
was not meant for us, as long as we were bound for the White Mountains 
and "beyond," and we lingered but a short time underneath the grand 
old trees that make the place look like one of the ancestral halls of the 
England of long ago. Making a tour of the grounds, we struck out once 
more on the high road to Portsmouth, and passing a couple of fashionable 
rigs with tanned city beauties holding the reins, returning to the hotel from 
town, the " Quartette " were soon in the middle of the pretty old town of 
Portsmouth. 

That the town of Portsmouth is old is a matter of history, that it is 
pretty is a matter of opinion. It certainly has many fine residences, very 
fair road surfaces, several large industrial establishments, and one of its 
hotels, the Rockingham, looks as though it had been taken from among 
palatial companions in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia and set down 
as a luxurious curiosity in what by comparison is a most unpretentious 
city. 

Gilbert had not to hunt far for his " Delmonico's " or Laurie for his 
" Boldt's." By universal consent we were directed to the Rockingham, and 
on arriving there found that supper was one of the things the management 
paid special attention to. We had ridden altogether, since leaving Salem 
that morning, a distance of 62 miles, so the good meal set before us was 
not by any means treated with neglect. Having several friends in town, 
the writer proceeded to hunt them up after supper, and, having discharged 
this duty, returned to the hotel to find Mr. Charles A. Hazlitt, one of the 
jolly good old-timers of cycling, waiting to see the patty. There is not a 
better informed cyclist in New Hampshire than Mr. Hazlitt, and on un- 
derstanding that we were on an extended trip, it was his great desire that 
we should stop over at Portsmouth for a day or so, and see what he called 
some of the most interesting sights in New England. On our telling him 
that we could not possibly stay longer than half the following day, Sun- 
day, he was greatly disappointed, but most kindly offered to wake us up 
4 



26 

early the next morning and show us all of Portsmouth that could be seen 
in half a day. It was early next morning when, true to his promise, Mr. 
Hazlitt turned up at the hotel, and a few minutes' time saw us mounted 
and pedalling toward the Piscataqua River, to cross over to Newcastle. 
This was one of the most pleasing experiences of our trip. As an au- 
thority on the historical data connected with the neighborhood in which 
he lives, and as an active wheelman, conversant with the highways and 
byways leading to and from every point of interest, Mr. Hazlitt is a 
prize which the cycling visitor to Portsmouth may count himself as a 
spoiled child of fortune if he captures. Old Fort Constitution, with its 
curious gateway, about the only specimen of the portcullis feature of forti- 
fication to be seen in this northern country, the heavy black guns lying 
grim and sullen on the sward outside the walls, the few pyramids of shells, 
with grass and weeds of all kinds growing at will around and over all, 
struck us as being one of the most interesting things we had seen on our 
pilgrimage. Chester climbed to the top of the old Martello tower near 
the entrance. Gilbert smoked a cigarette, and asked an old ship captain 
who was standing by how it was that while there was no license in Ports- 
mouth, whisky was sold to citizens and also to strangers. 

" Because we likes to buy it," laconically -answered the old tar. Laurie 
got both cameras to work, while the writer sat down on a mammoth pile 
of granite, cut long ago to build the new fort, but never used, and scribbled 
on the back of the last letter to hand from Philadelphia, a Portsmouth 
sentiment to carry back to the " Quaker City " : 

Useless now the embattled wall, 

The grim portcullis and the high-thrown mound, 

All destined once to see the grim death-play 
Of strife twixt man and man ; 

All labor spent is vain and useless now ; but stay ! 
Say not quite useless, since we can 
See in these serried ranks of quarried stone, 
See in these old-time shells that here alone 
Live on, the thought that, what in hate began 
Between two peoples through whose veins there ran 
The same rich blood, may end in sovereign love 
As fixed and sure as are the heavens above. 

From the top of the Martello tower Chester called to us. He was taking 
in the view through the agency of a field-glass which the before-mentioned 
old sailor carried, who was also on top of the tower. Laurie's photo- 
graphs were by this time taken, and we all scrambled to the top of the 
squat-looking edifice that dominates the knoll of ground back of the fort. 
The term Martello comes from a place of that name in Corsica, where one 
of these small defences made a memorable resistance to attack during the 
French wars at the end of the last century. The visitor to Ireland can 
count hundreds of these towers round the coast of that island, built by 
orders of the British War Ofifice, with the double object of affording work 
to the peasantry and providing against a threatened invasion of the coun- 
try by the first Napoleon. It was a similar exi§|ency that called into ex- 
istence the circular pile of brick which, though now dismantled, watches 
over the waters at Portsmouth. 

From the front porch of the splendid Wentworth house you can obtain 
a beautiful view seaward, looking toward the Isle of Shoals, and from the 
rear porch another view almost equally fine can be had of the river, town, 
country, and the faraway mountains. To these latter our gaze wandered 
whenever it got the chance. They, or those back of them, were the goal 



27 

of our expectations, and, notwithstanding the enjoyment of the present, we 
could not help speculating as to what, both in the way of pleasure and 
pain, was in store for us. 

From the rear porch of the Wentworth, our guide pointed out to us the 
old Wentworth Mansion, the home of Governor Wentworth. As every 
State has its more or less noted Governors, so has New Hampshire, and in 
early colonial days the name of Governor Benning Wentworth, as it is 
still, was identified prominently with New Hampshire and with Ports- 
mouth. The story of his marriage to Martha Hilton is a romantic incident 
that possessed so much of interest as to inspire Longfellow to pen one of 
his prettiest verse narratives. 

Crossing the long bridge from the island over to Portsmouth we got a 
distant view of the Kittery Navy Yard and the old frigate * Constitution," 
which lies there, an object of patriotic veneration to all good citizens who 
have attended public school and profited thereby. A ride around the town 
and an inspection of what it had to show in the way of residences put us 
well on to dinner-time, and, as our departure was scheduled for immedi- 
ately after that meal, our more than kind guide bade us adieu and carried 
away with him our more than thanks. 

And now we were to turn our backs upon the coast ; for comparatively 
level riding over what, for the past few days, had been good roads, we 
were to exchange mountain climbing and, by all accounts, indifferent high- 
ways. No matter, we were in for it and we turned our backs on the ocean 
and on Portsmouth with but one regret — that we had not at least a week 
to spend among friends and scenes alike pleasant and instructive. 

It was nearly three o'clock before we got started. Our first stopping 
place would be Dover, and then Rochester for supper and to stay over- 
night. The latter place is about 20 miles from Portsmouth. A fair road 
carried us to Dover, though in places the ruts asserted themselves to a 
greater extent than was pleasant. Beyond Dover this was even more the 
case, and we began to think that, if the New Hampshire public highways 
deteriorated much more, we were in for the reverse of what is generally 
known as a " soft snap." However, Rochester was made all right, but not 
quite as early as we expected, consequently, our opportunity to see much 
of the place was limited, as supper had to be discussed, and then a rest on 
the porch with heels in air and a cigar and stories to the fore made loafing 
at the hotel preferable to rambling round city streets, of which we get 
plenty and enough when not traveling in quartettes. 

Before turning in, it was agreed that the opinion of some local cycler 
should, if possible, be secured as to the best route to follow in entering the 
mountains, and as Mr. Charles Corson was known by reputation to nearly 
all of us, his address was secured, and, in our dreams that night we each 
and all of us saw ourselves coasting Mount Washington, photographing 
the "Profile" and " Fabyan's," blowing cigarette smoke into the face of 
the "Old Man of the Mountains," or dancing with pretty girls stranded in 
the same mountains. 



CHAPTER VI. 

LAKE WINNEPESAUKEE AND BEYOND. 



When Heaven first looked on earth and threw 

A loving smile upon it. 
Of all the spots that tried to gain 

That smile, but one spot won it ; 
For when New Hampshire spread abroad 

Her cloud gloved hands above her, 
How could the great and mighty One 

Who made her, fail to love her. 



O Winnepesaukee ! fairest lake, 
Heaven smilin,i o'er thy mother, 

Brought thee to life since when it has 
Not smiled on such another. 



As sweep ng o'er thy tide I see 

That great smile mirrored in it, 
Well guarded by those grand old hills 

Which helped New Hampshire win it ; 
I see the green-garbed isles lie like 

Fair gems in silver setting, 
And barken to the breeze-borne song 

Of wave on rockland fretting. 

O Winnepesaukee! fairest lake, 

No other smile shall smother, 
This smile of thine, for Heaven will ne'er 

Vouchsafe earth such another. 

The morning of Monday broke clear and beautiful, and as it wore on 
also grew hot. Our original intention was to go into and through the 
mountains by way of North Conway, and when in Boston, the writer, 
growing tired of carrying a valise on his machine, packed in it everything 
not absolutely essential to comfort — extra films for the cameras, etc. — and 
shipped it on to North Conway. When, however, at an early hour on 
Monday morning, the Quartette walked into Mr. Corson's establishment, 
where he handles all kinds of bicycles and cycling goods, and, introducing 
themselves, asked for directions, the whole programme was changed, and, 
per that gentleman's advice, we switched our ideas and line of travel to 
the left, and decided to make a break for water ; in other words, we de- 
termined to sample the charms of New Hampshire's most beautiful lakes. 
Lake Winnepesaukee and the big and little Squam Lakes are known to all 
those who travel on this continent in search of the beautiful, and, profiting 
by the directions of our Rochester friend, we started at a good round pace 
for Farmington, New Durham, Alton, and Lake Winnepesaukee. 

Getting our bearings from Mr. Corson, who had made frequent trips 
into the White Mountains, not all cycling trips, however, we bade adieu 
to Rochester and took the road to Farmington, some seven miles dis- 
tant. 

The riding was not what would be called first-class, but taking it all in 
all, it was not wholly and aggravatingly bad, as we had been led to expect 

28 



^9 

it would be by dwellers east of Rochester. Rochester and Farmington 
people seemed to think their highways first-class, but they very evidently 
did not do much riding in the neighborhood of Portsmouth and Rye 
Beach, or they would have criticized their own road-surfaces a little more 
accurately. Taking the New Hampshire roads as a whole, however, 
through the region we traversed, they afforded good riding for Safety 
bicycles. 

Farmington was reached about half an hour later than we had calculated, 
and learning from local riders that we would have to reach Alton Bay, 
some II miles distant, on Lake Winnepesaukee, by 12 o'clock, or, failing 
that hour, 4 o'clock p. M. in order to cross it, a start was at once made 
with the idea of reaching there by noon. A couple of Farmington riders 
taking a spin on the main street very kindly volunteered to go a piece of 
the way with the " Quartette," and we had the pleasure of their company 
for about two and a half miles out of town when they left us, and about 
the same time the good road also left us, or rather we left it, for from there 
on through New Durham there was a wealth of ruts, and once or twice 
the recommendation of our Farmington friends to take the train at New 
Durham in order to reach Alton Bay by noon came very near being en- 
tertained by the sun-roasted four. The day was a boiling hot one, and not 
by any means the kind of day to tempt over-exertion on the part of cycling 
tourists, so the very wise conclusion was reached, at a council of war held 
in a dry water-course, flanked by a luxurious growth of ripe raspberries, to 
take things easy, take a pull at the raspberries and at something else to head 
off evil consequences from a hearty indulgence in the tempting fruit, take 
dinner at Alton Bay, take the 4 o'clock trip across the lake, and perhaps 
fake supper at Centre Harbor or some place beyond, on the further side of 
the lake. This pleased all parties, and after a grand loaf in the shady, 
dried-up water- course, the road was again tackled, and about 12.30 the 
houses of Alton came into view. The first thought on our reaching the 
town was, of course, dinner. 

No ! I am wrong. Perhaps the first thought was — well ! is this place 
prohibition also. If this was not the first thought, as well as the writer 
can remember, it was the first expression that fell from the lips of one of 
the party — who shall be nameless — on catching sight of the hospitable 
roof of G. F. Savage's hotel. 

Whether the place is prohibition or not, readers can find out for them- 
selves when they visit it, at all events, if good treatment and good food is 
a desideratum, by all means look up Mr. G. F. Savage. 

And now a noteworthy incident has to be chronicled. Up to this point 
of the pilgrimage, our Laurie had manfully borne the disability which the 
ownership of whiskers seemed to impose upon him, while traveling 
through the frequented and unfrequented beauty spots of New England. 
While enjoying a half hour's rest on the hotel porch before dinner, sud- 
denly, our knight of the camera jumped from his chair and said : 

" Boys, I'll do it I"' 

" Do what ?" asked Gilbert. 

" Get shaved," was the brief if it was not the witty answer. 

" Look out, Chester, we'll have another ' Richmond in the field,' as far 
as the ladies are concerned, by the time we reach the White Mountain 
notches," remarked Weise. 

" I'm satisfied you're handicapped just twice as much as before, Gil," 
replied the good-humored Chester, and Gilbert forthwith busied himself 
fishing a last cigarette from a dilapidated box. 



30 

Twenty minutes elapsed, and just as dinner was announced back came 
our fraternal fourth party, minus the masculine embellishment of a care- 
fully cultivated beard, in the full enjoyment of which he had but lately left 
us, Gilbert, who had never seen his traveling companion clean shaven 
before, nearly succumbed to extreme surprise and perhaps a little envy, for 
by general consent, the three-quarters of the quartette who had not been 
to the " barber of Alton," voted that a good-looking individual had been 
added to the party. It may be noted in passing that it seemed as though 
with the loss of his hirsute facial appendages, our fellow-traveler seemed 
to have effected a clear gain in the line of eating capacity, and this char- 
acteristic followed him throughout the remainder of the trip. 

It is but a short mile from Alton to Alton Bay, the point of embarkation 
for the further end of beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee. It is at this point 
that the Concord & Montreal Railroad makes connection with the hand- 
some steamers that ply on the lake, and which transport visitors to the 
numerous pleasure resorts on its profusely indented and well-wooded 
shores. 

Ahead of time, we lay about the wharf watching the small fish and some 
snapping-turtles enjoying themselves round the piles in the beautiful clear 
water below the jetty. Here a telegram was sent on to North Conway, to 
have the writer's " grip " forwarded to Bethlehem, which telegram mis- 
carried, entailing some little uneasiness among the party later on, relative 
to the matters of fresh films for the camera, and fresh fittings in the way 
of clothes for the writer. 

By and by, round the far side of the green island half a mile from port, 
could be seen creeping the smokestacks of the expected steamer, looking, 
as Gilbert remarked, much as they would look from certain points of view on 
the Mississippi, and in a few minutes, round the end of the island came the 
'' Mount Washington," the handsome boat that was to convey us to the other 
end of the lake, about 23 miles distant. F'rom the moment of setting foot on 
deck of this well-appointed steamer, the real enjoyment of the trip in the way 
of novelty commenced. Whether this was in part owing to the discovery 
that we would not be charged for the carriage of our wheels, I will not say. 
I do not think, however, that any such mercenary motive for our indulging 
in light hearts could have existed ; we were above it, as much above such 
feelings as were the high hills around us above the fair bosom of the beau- 
tiful sheet of water over which we were swiftly and yet gently speeding. 

There were the usual adieus, handshaking, wavings, etc., to other 
travelers left on the wharf, and then every one settled down to the enjoy- 
ment of a ride alike restful and beautiful. 

Why do not more of our great commonality sample pleasures such as 
the one under notice, which are as easily attainable as many which com- 
mand and receive an amount of attention and patronage they do not, com- 
paratively speaking, deserve? Instead of spending a certain amount of 
time and money on pleasures more or less connected with every-day city 
life, it would seem as though, at the expense of a little patience — you can 
hardly say self-denial — and by a judicious use of capital, more of our peo- 
ple could, in a week, or two or three, taken from the 52 which make up 
the year, learn something of the magnificent land that lies around them. 
If not in an extended way, at least in a local way, this could be done, 
and right here the bicycle comes in as an agent, the best of any, perhaps, 
placed at the disposal of the ordinary run of every-day workers. Get 
your bicycle, and it will lead you to learn something, be it much or little, 
about your country. 



31 

Steadily swept the " Mount Washington " over the bright, sparkling 
waters of Winnepesaukee. It was a glorious sail. The day was superb, 
a trifle too hot, perhaps, but we were not on a rutty road, we were on a 
well-appointed steamboat, gliding over a sea of blue and silver. Rattle- 
snake Island was passed on our left, and, as we progressed, island after 
island, bay after bay, hill after hill, and mountain after mountain was 
either passed or came into view and was then shut out again by some new 
object of interest. The different-hued foliage on the many hills inclosing 
the lake lent a charm to the panorama flying by that was as ever-interest- 
ing as it was ever-changing. Islands with small summer residences on 
them, boats lying in little coves, odd fishermen dominating solitary rocks, 
other islands with white tents pitched under green canopies, where camp- 
ing parties were thanking Heaven before meals, or swearing at the cook 
after them ; great mountains in the distance, and beyond them — what ? 
Well ! we did not know. All these and many other sights which make 
Winnepesaukee all that it is said to be, with its 300 islands, its waters of 
crystal, and its waves of silver, its sky, when we saw it, as blue as its hills 
were green ; all these and many other beauties made us sorry when our 
boat ran into the wharf at Centre Harbor, and we had to decide whether 
we would stop at the Senter House that night or seek a lodging further on. 
We decided to go on. There was still an hour and a half of daylight, 
and although we were ignorant as to hotel accommodations ahead, we de- 
termined to risk the chances of having to sleep in the woods. Mr. Corson 
had given us the name of a large boarding-house, about a mile outside the 
town, where it would be preferable to stop, in view of the fact that the 
said mile lay up, as John Bunyan might have written it, a very steep and 
terrible hill. We had heard of this hill from two riders whom we had 
met on the other side of the lake, they having ridden down it. We walked 
up it, and after walking up failed to find our promised stopping-place. 
What to do was the question. Tackle the Sturtevant House, half a mile 
on, was Laurie's suggestion. This is an old farm-house turned into a 
mountain boarding-house, and right comfortable it looked, sitting on the 
elevation it occupies over the road. Full up, no accommodations, go back 
about a mile and a half to Centre Harbor, or else go on some five miles to 
the Asquam House, was the word here. Go back down that long, long 
hill. Oh ! no ; better go on if we have to walk every step of the way in 
the dark. Our decision was looked at with wonder by a couple of ladies 
and three city wearers of red and black blazers, just out from having had 
supper, and I doubt not but that some talk was indulged in after we de- 
parted touching the recklessness of " those bicycle riders." In half a 
minute's time the " Quartette " was congratulating itself upon its bravery 
in pushing ahead, for a long down-grade, rough as they make them, sent 
machines and jaws rattling, and also sent our spirits up to high-water 
mark. We must have run down a full mile before bringing up to push on 
the pedals once more. 

" Steady, boys, steady, ready, boys, ready, 
Duty, boys, duty, wherever you are sent ; 
Never know defeat, boys, death before retreat, boys, 
That is the song of our Regiment." 

So sang Gil Wiese for the hundredth time, as we commenced to pay up 
for our pleasureable down-grade run. It was now dusk, and we had as 
much as we could do to keep on the machines. Indeed, we could not 
keep on them ; it was ride, boys, ride, and then walk, boys, walk, and then 



32 

again slide, boys, slide, ere we could clap the brake on to prevent going 
down grade faster than was quite agreeable. At a fork of the road we 
nearly went wrong, but, fortunately, a solitary cottage farm-house stood 
right at the junction point, and though a pretty 15-year-old country lass 
could not tell us much about the route, an old man, who, in point of looks, 
was the greatest contrast to such a child that I think I ever saw, pointed 
out our road to the Asquam House, Up to the present we had not learned 
that this mountain hostelry stood on Shepard's Hill, boasting an elevation 
of 800 feet. 

It was ticklish riding now, and once again we nearly lost our way, but a 
ten minutes' hunt for an inhabited house, saved us from journeying off to 
Plymouth, There are but few houses round this region, and several of the 
ones we did see were untenanted. 

When about a mile and a half from our destination, we came upon an 
extensive farm establishment, in front of which stood an old man, as ven- 
erable looking as the place itself. He was hale and hearty, however, and 
on our stopping to ask directions, he put a number of questions to us as to 
who we were and where going, 

Wiese almost floored him at the first go off, by telling him we were from 
Philadelphia, " You don't mean to tell me," said he, " you've ridden 
those things from Philadelphia," ''The best part of the way, ex- 
cept across the water," replied Gil. 

A rather strong expression followed from the old countryman which he 
followed up with : " Philadelphia is a great place. Was there once goin' 
to the war. We thought they treated us well in Boston, but when we got 
to Philadelphia, I'll never forget it, Nothin' was too good for us. I 
never saw Philadelphia since, and don't suppose I ever shall again, but 
there's lots of us yet thinks there's no city like that of yours," 

He spoke so earnestly about the kindness of Philadelphia people that 
we spent ten full minutes chatting to him, before asking all we wanted to 
know. In answer to our query as to whether we had much of a hill to go 
up to the Asquam Hou>e, he stuck his thumbs into his suspenders and 
broke out with : 

'* Hills, hills is it ? You've got a mountain to go up, a of a big 

mountain, the biggest one you've seen .yet. But, come now, you don't 
mean to say you are going up on those bicycles ?" 

We assured him that we purposed so doing, and after an expression of 
sorrow on his part that he could not put us up for the night, we went on 
for our mile and a half jaunt to the Asquam House, It was very well that 
we were not cognizant of all that was before us, for I question whether we 
would have had the courage to climb the tremendous hill to the house 
that night if we had known what the task would be like. There was no 
sing to Gil Wiese when we got to the top, and saw the " lights of home " 
on our right, up a further incline, Chester said he had pretty nearly 
enough of the mountains already, Laurie said nothing, but no doubt he 
thought much, and wished himself at home on Arch Street, Philadelphia, 
and the writer wondered if he would have sufficient wit to say his prayers, 
provided he got some supper before having to perform that duty. Mr. 
Cilly, the well-known proprietor of the " Asquam," fixed us all right, how- 
ever, and probably he never had four more played-out travelers in need of 
food and lodging than the " Quartette " who that night tumbled into the 
Asquam House. 



CHAPTER VII. 

FROM THE BIG AND LITTLE SQUAM TO THE FRANCONIA NOTCH. 
SQUAM LAKE. 

Beautiful lake of the mountain world. 

Resting in sliadows deep, 
Beautiful lake of a beautiful land 

Round thee the hill-tops keep 
Ever their watch, that the wind-god may 

Breathe but a sigh o'er thy sleep. 

Beautiful lake is this greater Squam, 

Veiling its isle-flecked face 
Under the woodland's cloak flung out 

To soften the rough embrace, 
Of the hills that make this greater Squam 

Of rest, the abiding place. 

The sunlight was streaming in through our windows on our awakening the 
next morning. By this it need not be supposed that the '' Quartette " were 
late in rising, for it will be remembered that the time of year was July, and 
also we were on the top of a very high hill, which latter fact, owing to the 
experience of the previous evening, we were fully cognizant of. What a 
grand prospect greeted our eyes on leaving our rooms and exchanging 
their narrow limits for the broad freedom of the porch running round the 
hotel. On almost every side a panorama of mountain and lake greets the 
eye, and we found but few if any views on our trip that came up, in 
the way of serene loveliness, to the view on Squam Lake from the Asquam 
House. Away below us was more than a semicircle of water, extending 
round the eminence on which this splendid summering place is situated. 
The greater and lesser Squam Lakes stretch around the base of Shepard's 
Hill, the surface of the former dotted with many islands, and both sur- 
rounded by ranges of hills that inclose their waters and notably in the 
case of the larger lake, give them a beauty that perhaps can be matched 
by but few such places either in the Old World or the New. Among the 
smaller lakes of America, Squam Lake, it is said, occupies a first place, 
and I am willing to believe the statement, for certainly I never saw a more 
beautiful combination of water, wood and mountain within small compass 
than where the " Big Squam " lies in quiet content amid the retirement of 
the New Hampshire hills. 

It had been our intention to leave early, immediately after breakfast, in 
fact, but, when a good meal had made us feel the least little bit lazy, and 
when the spirit of rest which seemed to dominate the whole place and 
permeate the air took hold of us, the programme was changed and the 
time of starting postponed until after dinner. There were a great many 
guests at the house, and the numerous pretty cottages on the slope of 
the hill overlooking the lake were almost all full of rest-seeking families. 
About 200 yards from the hotel and standing on the brow of the hill are 
two or three pine trees, and it is under these trees that the poet Whittier 
loves to sit and look out over a vista that coaxed from his pen his well- 
known lines on this beautiful spot. 
5 33 



34 

" I'm going to make a motion," said Gilbert, as we took in the charm- 
ing view from near the Whittier trees. '' I move that we stay here instead 
of going on among those mountains." 

''I second the motion," the writer ventured to remark, but Laurie looked 
at us reproachfully as he adjusted the lens of his camera to capture the 
physiognomy of the beautiful sheet of water below us. 

" We did not start out to loaf around Newport, Squam Lake, or any 
other place," put in Chester. •' The fact is," he continued, " Gil, here, 
saw a couple of extremely pretty girls, from down South somewhere, on 
the porch last night, and he wants to stay here^and make their acquaint- 
ance." 

" You would be a good hand to write novels, Chester ; you've got a 
capital imagination," said Gilbert, having recourse to his cigarette box. 

" Well, it's true," said Chester, putting that peculiar high emphasis on 
the word true, which is characteristic of voices not cut out for bass sing- 
ing. 

" Well, have it so ; don't you want to stop, too ? Look at that lake there. 
I'm going down for a swim directly, perhaps a row, too. Look at those 
mountains. We've got as good or better out Pittsburgh way ; but, still, 
these are all right ; think of the breakfast we had — no scrapping around 
and worrying to find a decent place to get a meal at. Now, I think if we 
are wise travelers we will lay up here ; honest, now, I mean it." 

And Gil really did mean what he said, and, '' but small blame to him," 
as the Irishman said, for wishing to take it easy under circumstances and 
amid associations as pleasant as those of Squam Lake and the Asquam 
House. 

Very shortly after breakfast we started down the hill and brought up at 
the boat-house, from which place we were rowed over to the bath-houses 
by the keeper of the boats, who turned out to be a student from one of the 
New England colleges putting in his vacation in that fashion. We found 
among the waiters at the hotel several other students who M'^ere spending 
their vacation making an honest penny in that capacity, and, doubtless, 
benefiting by the change of occupation and by the health-giving properties 
of the place. At the bath-houses, owing to the kindness of a couple of 
the guests, we secured bathing-suits and took a swim in the clear, cool 
waters of the lake. It is surprising how clear the water in these New 
Hampshire lakes is. You can see very often a distance of 20 feet and 
more to the pebbly bottom. In Squam I>ake there are large quantities of 
fish, and fishing parties are one of the institutions of the place. 

It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon when, fortified by dinner and a rest of 
about three-quarters of an hour after it, the " Quartette " mounted machines 
once more, and in a whirlwind of dust rushed down Shepard's Hill, round 
the shore of the Lake, and followed the road in the direction of Plymouth. 
According to advice, we left this road after traveling a short distance and 
took one to the right, which led us over, perhaps, a more hilly route, but 
which carried us away from sand, which we understood was a feature of 
the road near Plymouth. Our object was to strike over to the Pemige- 
wasset River by way of Livermore Falls, and then follow the road along 
this stream by way of Campton, Thornton, and Woodstock into the 
Franconia Mountains. The road was a very fair one ; indeed, so far we 
could not complain on the head of roads, as we had been favored with 
good ones on the whole, and better than we had expected to find. At 
Livermore Falls, which we reached by dint of many inquiries, the river is 
spanned by a high iron bridge, and from this bridge a charming view is 



35 

had of the falls, which, while not very large, are extremely picturesque, 
as the water rushes over huge, jagged masses of rock. Crossing the 
stream, we followed the road leading along the west bank, and just as 
supper-time was well-nigh vanished, and with it, of course, supper, the 
tree-covered hostelry known as Sanborn's came into view, and it was re- 
solved that enough had been done for that day, and that a stop over for 
the night at Sanborn's was the proper thing. This well-known stopping- 
place for visitors to the New Hampshire hill country stands on the road 
running through to the Franconia Notch, and, with its annex on the 
opposite side of the same road, is quite a large place. Although somewhat 
late, supper was not long in making its appearance, and seeing that we 
had covered some 12 miles during the afternoon, the meal was extremely 
welcome. After supper there was a long sit on the porch, a smoke, and 
some chatting with the other guests, and then an invitation to join a pro- 
gressive euchre party at the annex. There was only room for two, and the 
lucky two were Chester and the writer, so Gilbert and Laurie sat on the 
porch, and while Gil smoked, the fourth party to the " Quartette " told 
him that there were 16 ladies in the party in the large room, where the 
bell tinkled and chairs were pushed backward and vacated and occupied 
again by fortunate or unfortunate players. The two non-players went over 
after a while and passed the time on the main hotel porch, while other 
players than their traveling-companions won the prizes at the euchre 
party. 

" Serves you right ; you need not have expected to win after leaving us 
the way you did," said Laurie, on our return. 

Leaving Sanborn's the next morning we determined that, as during the 
past few days loafing rather than riding had been the programme, we 
would bestir ourselves and get over some ground. The intention was all 
right, but the matter of putting it into execution was a little bit difficult. 
In the first place it was hard work, very hard work, riding. The road- 
surface was fair, to be sure, but the grades were a little too much for 
comfort, and it was a remarkable fact that the four minds of the " Quar- 
tette " seemed very often to run in the same channel, and nobody just 
around that neighborhood had the hardihood to dispute the fact that the 
"walking was very good." And then again, the magnificent scenery 
cropping up on either hand as we closed in on Woodstock, the giant 
mountains looming up near by and in the distance the leaping, tumbling, 
laughing, and always lovely Pemigewasset River, the necessity for catch- 
ing and carrying away with us some of the glorious scenes we were passing 
through, all these had an influence in keeping us from making fast time, 
and it was not until on the far side of Woodstock that lowering clouds 
and distant peals of thunder sent us into North Woodstock for dinner at a 
faster rate than we had ridden for days. 

It was a question after dinner whether to go on or not. A heavy 
shower had fallen over North Woodstock just before we reached it; the 
mountains were covered with fast-flying clouds, which rolled along their 
sides in great white masses, and the mutterings of the distant thunder 
made subdued music through the hills. We had stopped at the Russell 
House, and from the plateau back of it were shown by another traveler 
the towering masses of hills ahead of us, through which we were about to 
penetrate. As it was evident that we would have rain, whether we re- 
mained at North Woodstock or pushed on, a forward movement was de- 
cided upon, and the road through the Franconia Notch, by way of the 
Flume House and the Profile, was taken, with some misgiving as to the 



36 

probability of reaching either place ahead of rain. The Profile House 
was about lo miles distant. 

It was on this portion of the road that we ran across one of the prettiest 
little cascades we had dropped on in our travels. It is known among the 
many others along the line of the beautiful Pemigewasset as the Cascade 
in the Franconia Notch, and on one of the large flat boulders underneath 
the fall of water is to be seen a good representation of a gigantic footprint. 
This is said to be a relic of the Old Man of the Mountain, or, if you choose 
so to consider it, it is a legacy left by the " Old Boy " himself from the 
time when he used to go rampaging around, the monarch of all he sur- 
veyed in these magnificent wilds. 

The first thing Gil Wiese did was to jump all over the holy or unholy 
imprint, and the writer never knew he was on sacred rock until after he 
had lain all over it to reach down for a drink, having his legs held by two 
others of the party, for fear of his making too close acquaintance with the 
pool. Beneath the rock over which the water plunges, is a deep pool, 
which must at least be 30 feet in depth, hollowed out by the unceasing 
flow of the beautiful clear water through ages. You can see to the bottom 
without the least difficulty, the water being as clear as the proverbial crys- 
tal. Both above and below this beauty-spot of the Pemigewasset the 
stream forces its way through little canons and over hundreds of rocks, 
and forms countless little cascades that throw the music of their waters 
upon the ear of the traveler as he follows the road through the famed 
Franconia Notch. 

Bright Pemigewasset, sweet stream of the hills. 

Thy free, bounding waters are foaming, 
O'er rock and through fissure, as slowly we force 

Our way through the Notch in the gloaming; 
The Flume is before us, thy music behind, 

It drops but at times on our hearing. 
And fainter still grows the last plaint of thy song, 

For thy beautiful birthplace we're nearing. 

Bright Pemigewassett, sweet stream, I will tell 

Thy story wherever I wander. 
As breeze borne across the dark valley it comes 

From thy rock-girdled banks over yonder ; 
I hear it and love it ; the story is this. 

That one of New England's fair daughters 
Lost her voice in the hills, and 'twas found thereby thee, 

And lives on in thy musical waters. 

The Pemigewasset River rises in the beautiful sheet of water known as 
Profile Lake, and runs through the enchanting valley that takes its 
name from it, and up which, for some 20 miles, we had been traveling. 
We were now fairly among the mountains. For several miles the other 
side of Woodstock the cameras had seen hard service, and many were the 
views caught and stored away in the little black boxes on the handle-bars 
of the machines. All the day, from the time we left Sanborn's, succes- 
sions of hills came into view, each rising higher than the other, then 
larger mountains loomed up through the gaps in the lower hills and across 
the intervales, and still we kept climbing, climbing until the hills became 
mountains all round, and we landed, as before remarked, in North Wood- 
stock for dinner, and then passed on up the road through the Franconia 
Notch. The railroad ends at North Woodstock, and from there on to the 
Profile House all travel is carried on by stage-coach, a number of which 
ancient equipages we saw while in the mountains. Shortly after leaving 
Woodstock we caught up with and passed one of these lumbering six- 



37 

horse coaches. It was loaded with people, satchels, boxes, and trunks, 
and the horses had a hard pull. The professional tooling it, did not like 
the idea of us passing him, and kept us pocketed in the narrow roadway 
for nearly a quarter of a mile, but a level stretch a little wider than the 
general run of roadway gave us the desired chance, and we bade him 
good-bye. We made as good time as he did, notwithstanding the heavy 
grades, and reached the Lake ahead of him. 

Profile Lake lies directly off" the road to the left before you reach the 
great hostelry known as the Profile House. You go down a number of 
steps and find yourself on the shore of a charming lakelet, with the pine- 
covered hills rising all around it, and away up above it, standing out 
against the sky from the mountain side, is the wonderful natural rock for- 
mation known as the Profile. It is a gigantic and most truthful side view 
of a human face standing out from the side of Mount Cannon, and looking 
across the waters of the lake to the wooded heights beyond, the wonder- 
ful freak of nature is an object of interest to all who visit this beautiful 
spot. Our view of the phenomenon was as nothing compared with what 
more fortunate travelers are favored with. The "Old Man of the Moun- 
tain," as the wonder is termed locally, had his nightcap on, and we were 
in too great a hurry to reach shelter before the threatening storm should 
break, to wait for him to take it off. The thunder was growling round us 
once more as we turned our backs on the lake and rode as fast as possible 
toward the Profile House. 

You come suddenly on this noted house of entertainment among the 
hills. It lies in a sort of nest among the mountains, an infant plateau sur- 
rounded on all sides by towering pine-covered heights, from which there 
appears to be no means of egress, once you get in among them. Just as 
we reached the place, the threatening clouds burst almost over our heads, 
and we made a break up the board incline leading to the coach-house, to 
secure our wheels and the precious packs from what appeared a second 
deluge, 

''You're lucky to get in," said a big stableman, '' and you had better 
stay in, too, you can't cross a hundred yards there without being soaked 
through." 

We were starting across to the house, but at that moment it seemed as 
though a cloud had burst overhead, there was a blinding flash of lightning, 
a deafening crash of thunder, and then a rush of water as if a continuous 
sheet were falling, instead of a million of separate drops. In a moment the 
whole road took on the semblance of a lake, and we began to understand 
what a storm among the hills meant. 

" I guess we're booked to stay here all night," said Chester, ruefully, for 
we had calculated to spend the night on the other side of the mountains, 
in the village of Franconia. 

'' Oh ! you're all right if you want to go 6n," said one of the men, " this 
thing won't last longer nor half an hour, ^\'here be you going to ?" 

We told him we were bound for Mt. Washington, and on to Labrador, 
or somewhere else, and he seemed mightily surprised when he heard that 
we hailed from Philadelphia. 

" You wait about quarter of an hour after the rain stops, and then you 
can ride down the mountain to Franconia without much trouble," he said. 

Sure enough, the rain expended itself inside of half an hour, and as we 
understood the distance was inside of five miles to Franconia, and down 
grade, too, a treat which we had not experienced for a long time, we decided 
to push forward instead of putting up at the Profile for the night. A coach, 



the one that had come up with us, was just setting out when we started, 
but within five minutes we had passed it, and then commenced a-going 
down process which the members of the "Quartette" will probably re- 
member as long as they live. It was one continuous descent of the 
mountain for about three miles. In places the rush of water had swept 
the roadway clear of everything but the substratum of young rocks and 
stones. The seething waters had carried the sandy surface down to each 
" thank-you-mam," and left it on its upper side, so that, when you rode up 
to one of these humps, the surface would appear level, but suddenly, 
swish ! you went into about eight inches of sand and slush, then came a 
bump, and then a skyv,'ard elevation from the saddle, and then a useless 
putting on of the brake, and race, if not for life, at least for safety. It 
was hold on like grim death and go it, if you ever expected to get there, 
for to get off was merely to walk into a regular " slough of despond." If the 
machines could cut through the aggregations of mud and sand, and if they 
would but hold together over the terrible beds of exposed rocks and stones 
and if through it all you could keep your seat, then all right, if not all 
wrong. 

Suddenly the clouds broke away as if by magic. We were skirting 
down the mountain side, and if it were not for the then uncomfortable, 
not to say dangerous state of affairs, I could now describe something that 
is but seldom seen, at any rate seldom seen by myself. I could only get a 
momentary glance every now and then at an enchanting picture of blue- 
green sky, red and amber tinted clouds, gleaming sunlight striking the 
tops of the hills in one quarter, and wild rolling masses of white vapor 
enveloping them in another. I mentally blessed that storm the one 
moment and mentally cursed the roadway the next, for I could not use 
my lips, my teeth were clenched, and my right hand was numb from hold- 
ing the brake, my left little finger was in the same condition from the 
peculiar position I had it in holding the handle-bar, and it remained of but 
little use to me for the balance of the trip. Down, down, still down, it was 
the longest three-miles coast I had ever struck. The rest were ahead, and 
I had two fears, one that I should come upon one or more of them laid 
out for waking, or else, that 1 myself might be cast away on this desolate 
and dissolute piece of mediaeval macadam, and my companions be none 
the wiser. Down, still down, into the dusk of the valley, with the hills 
getting higher and higher behind, the glorious sunset flashing redder and 
redder through the gaps of the hills, and that is all I knew until I almost 
ran smack up against a once white shirted individual whom I recognized 
as our usually neat and natty Laurie. He was bending over his machine. 

I could not stop if 1 wanted to, and ploughed past him through a swish- 
ing compound of mud, sand, and water. I could not even ask if he was 
himself or his ghost, and then I passed Chester who was also off. 

"We're at the end, Laurie's broken his chain," he shouted, as I found 
the mud doing more for me in the way of a brake than the regular article 
had done or could do. " Don't get off," he continued. 

I rode on for about a hundred yards, until I struck a comparatively 
hard spot, and then I jumped off into about two inches of red clay. Gil 
Wiese was some distance ahead, and after taking a momentary glance at 
the cloud-capped blue mountains behind us, I mounted and rode after him, 
half a mile to the Lafayette House, on the left of the road, where we 
thought it about time to call a halt. 

Gilbert got in ahead, and two more sorry-looking travelers you could 
hardly find in a year's riding than we two as we stood on the hotel porch 



39 

and looked up the road for the other half of the " Quartette." Mud ! 
well, the backs of our white riding-shirts had changed color, there must 
have been a pound or so of sandy mud on them. In this element of sand 
was our only salvation. Had the surface of the road been clay, we would 
never have gotten down that grade on the machines, the wheels would 
have clogged inside of a few yards. As it was, however, we ran through 
soft spots from one-half to nearly a foot deep, the bark of which was worse 
than their bite, as the sand and water spurted out ahead in a kind of jet, 
and went off behind in the same fashion, and rolled from the hubs and 
spokes before having time to clog. We both had a good laugh at each 
other, for, to put it literally, we were sanded all over. By and by, Laurie 
and Chester came along, and the machines were consigned to the coach- 
house, and — the confession will have to be made — without cleaning, for 
which laziness we paid up next morning. 

Talk about a place of rest for the weary, the Lafayette House was cer- 
tainly such a place for us that night. Having caught some little of the 
rain we were naturally anxious for something to warm up the inner man 
and prevent danger of cold, but could not procure, before supper, any- 
thing better than champagne cider, which was about the best of its kind 
I ever sampled. After supper the porch was laid under requisition, and 
our usual programme of a smoke and a chat indulged in. Some one of 
the party proposed to tell stories, but the proposition fell flat. The air 
was damp and rather chilly, and a white mist, a legacy from the late storm, 
rolled down the valley. 

"I don't see why we should not spin a few yarns during our travels," 
said Laurie. " Gil, have you not a story to tell us ?" 

" If you give me an hour or so to think, perhaps I may scare up some- 
thing. Go ahead yourself and tell one," said Gilbert, between whiffs. 

" Well, let's all agree to retail something strange or wonderful on four 
favorable opportunities," suggested Chester. 

After some discussion, it was agreed that the plan was not such a bad 
one, but as no one appeared in a humor to start the ball rolling on that 
evening, it was voted to have the first story from Gil Wiese on the first 
favorable occasion, when the "Quartette" would be taking things 
easy. 

" What will be the subject of the novel, Gil ?" queried Laurie. " Recol- 
lections of the City of Washington, or Wanderings in Africa ? Something 
lurid, you know." 

" I don't know who will prove himself the biggest liar," said Gil, " but 
I'll do my best. Maybe I'll tell how we used to run an election in Pitts- 
burgh." 

" Mac, why don't you get up a new song for Gil, I'm tired of hearing 
him give us that eternal ' steady, boys, steady,' etc., that product of Wash- 
ington, you know," said Laurie. 

" If you help me, I will get him up one in a few minutes," the writer 
ventured to remark. 

" Come along, then, we'll do it," said Chester, with more alacrity than 
had been expected of him, and forthwith Laurie and Gil were left on the 
porch, and the other half of the " Quartette " went into the house to hunt 
up some model on which to build a song for Gil. Chester hauled down 
a copy of Byron and broached the subject-matter of the effusion right 
away, from which, it is reasonable to suppose, he had been thinking of 
putting the job up on his companion for some time. Between the two 
heads and the one model the following, after much labor, was evolved. 



40 



A SONG OF TRAVEL. 



Come hither, come hither, my Httle foot-page, 

I'll tell you a story of love. 
That was coined where the good are supposed to hang out. 

In a region that's somewhere above. 

I was riding one day by the side of the way, 

With my thoughts in a heavenly jamb, 
When that side-path gave out, and my thoughts in a shout 

Reached the climax of bliss in oh ! 

The side-path that looks like a maid in her teenK, 

As fair as that white lily which, 
If you lose your poor head, will land you, as I 

Found that side-path land me, in the ditch. 

So, take warning, take warning, my little foot-page. 

And through life as you travel take care 
That you keep your eye open alike when you treat 
With a side-path or maid who looks fair, 
And square. 
Or I swear 
Your young heart or your pants you may tear 
Somewhere 
Or everywhere. 

Whenever you want to see a new rider do his prettiest take him on a 
journey where a few side-paths have to be negotiated. For the matter of 
that, old riders very often fail to have an exalted idea of the delights of 
riding in a six-inch track. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

FRANCONIA TO FABYANS AND MOUNT WASHINGTON. 

Lord of the hills and vales which lie below 

The great expanse of bpoad New Hampshire's sky, 
'Tis nothing that the tempests round thee blow, 

Or that the clouds upon thy forehead lie, 
'Tis nothing that the might of man has laid 

His hand upon thee, and proclaimed that thou 
Art his, to cater to his will and lift 

For him thy form on high. See now 
We strain to see the poise of thy proud head, 

But, in thy mute disdain of our desire 
Cloudland is marshalled to repel our tread. 

What a job we had after breakfast on that morning at Franconia, The 
chains had to be taken off all the machines, including the hickory, and 
the bearings of all with the exception of the hickory had to be taken off 
and cleaned. The wheels very "nearly refused to turn at all, for between the 
rust and mud on them they looked more like street cleaners' paraphernalia 
in wet weather than like respectable bicycles. 

It was after eleven o'clock before we made a start, and then having 
taken a few pictures, we bade adieu to the Lafayette and Franconia and 
made tracks for Bethlehem in New Hampshire, for dinner. 

Our ultimate destination was Fabyans, the distances being Bethlehem four 
miles, Bethlehem Junction eight miles, Fabyans eighteen miles. The road 
lies up and down up and down but of course mostly up all the way. We 
were surprised to find the roadway on the whole fair, and going down into 
Bethlehem Junction, another magnificent coast repaid us for the labor of 
climbing. This time no storm was on hand to detract from the pleasures of 
rapid transit and the thank-you-mams were negotiated with comparative 
ease. It was getting well on into the afternoon and we were beginning to 
feel the calls of the inner man and nine miles lay before us to Fabyans. 

" Boys," said Gilbert, " it is fair to suppose that the road ahead is by no 
means level ; as we have decided to come back this road to Bethlehem 
let us train it to Fabyans," 

We all looked at Gil when he thus delivered himself, but the wisdom of 
his proposition struck us at once. If we had one hour more all right, but 
even by laying the railroad under contribution we would be barely in time 
for supper. 

" All right," said Laurie, " but I insist on riding back ; we want to cover 
every foot of land and water at least one way by boat or bicycle." 

It did not take us long to pile into the Concord & Montreal train which 
was just starting, and in fifteen or twenty minutes' time we found ourselves 
at Fabyans and under the shadow of Mount Washington. Aboard the 
train a better informed traveler than ourselves let us into the knowledge 
that if we cared less for style than comfort, the White Mountain House, 
about a mile below Fabyans, was a good place to put up at, so to the White 
Mountain House we went, and found it a hospitable stopping-place, the 
landlord paying us great attention and stating that he had had several cy- 
cling guests during the season already. Fabyans lies, you might say, at the 
6 41 



42 

foot of Mount Washington and the hotel is located almost on the railroad 
platform, and altogether on the direct road to the Crawford Notch. 

On our reaching the noted hotel in the hills, our first thought was for a 
look at Mount Washington. We were disappointed in this direction, the 
King of the New Hampshire mountains had his crown or his cap — which- 
ever you like to call it — pulled down over his ears, in the shape of a bank 
of white cloud. We wasted no time round the big hotel, or in looking for 
what we could not see, but turned our wheels down the road and were 
soon enjoying a good supper at the White Mountain House. The evening 
was a glorious one, the sky was not devoid of clouds, but the air was clear 
and the ground had benefited by the rain of the previous day, being firm, 
and having the dust laid, it was pleasant to both ride and walk over. 
Accompanied by several of the other guests at the hotel, the " Quartette" 
visited the pretty little waterfall that lies about three-quarters of a mile be- 
low the White Mountain House. The place is well worth visiting, the 
river rushing through a narrow gorge in the rocks, and running into a large 
dark pool below the point of curtailment. The ledges of rock are cut and 
worn away by the action of the fast-rushing flood into a variety of forma- 
tions and the channel is almost choked up in places by the numerous logs 
which, cut above, have floated down and are thrown in every conceivable 
way on the rocks in the centre of the stream and along the sides. 

On our return from the waterfall, one of our party, Mr. Myron J. Ferren, 
who is member for Stoneham in the Massachusetts Legislature, proposed 
that the " Quartette " should go up with him to Fabyans and take a look at 
the celebrated hostelry. We all piled into a rumbling old bus and drove 
the mile to the hotel. The full complement of guests were not at this im- 
mense summering resort, but, for all that, the large hall with its big open 
fireplace, and its wealth of Japanese fans and other light and tasty adorn- 
ments was well filled with mountain sojourners, who were sitting round its 
wide extent reading, chatting, and otherwise amusing themselves. In the 
large parlor an orchestra was in full swing, with a bevy of children danc- 
ing in and out among the rich furnishings. The dining-room, a splepdid 
hall, was evidently not yet under requisition for the large number of guests 
it is calculated to accommodate, and the billiard and bar rooms were also 
evidently waiting for the great rush of business a little later on. We were 
ahead of time for the big season in the mountains. 

Going back in the bus with us were a few other travelers, and that mile 
along the railroad track, from Fabyans to the White Mountain House under 
the shadows of the near-by hills, resounded to the echoes of " John Brown's 
Body," '* Annie Laurie," " McGinty," " Marching through Georgia," '' The 
Old Oaken Bucket," and other patriotic and sentimental ditties. Coming 
near our stopping-place, a number of the guests turned out to see who the 
new arrivals were, and after we had extricated ourselves from the cavern- 
like depths of the lumbering conveyance, the proprietor requested that the 
" Quartette" — the musical one, he meant — would favor him with the " Old 
Oaken Bucket," of which song he was extraordinarily fond. 

It was rather late for story telling or anything of that sort when we re- 
turned from Fabyans, so not much time was spent on the porch that night, 
but after arranging to ride a couple of miles up the road the next morning 
and take a look at Mount Washington, the very comfortable beds of the 
White Mountain House were sought for a much-needed rest. 

The sun shone brightly next morning when we bade adieu to our rest- 
ing place of the night, and following the road for about two miles up after 
passing Fabyans and the Mount Pleasant House, we managed to see 



43 

Mount Washington with a few less clouds on it than it had boasted on the 
previous day. We then turned, as per the programme arranged for the rest 
of the trip, viz., to forego passing round to the Crawford Notch, and instead 
of taking in further scenes among mountains, to go back to Bethlehem, 
thence round through Littleton and across Vermont through a portion of 
the Green Mountains to Lake Champlain, and crossing the lake from Bur- 
lington, take in the much-talked-of Ausable Chasm, on the New York 
shore. 

Mount Washington is a good-sized hill, and as such it duly impressed 
us, but the " Quartette " were unanimous in deciding that it would pay 
better to forbear making the ascent of this local lion of the hills, and in- 
stead take a more extended ride and see something more than mountains, 
in fact, reach the *' beyond " that the New York skeptic had been doubtful 
of our ability to attain. 

We had a glorious day for our ride back from Fabyans, Quickly the 
giant bulk of Mount Washington was left behind, the turns in the road 
and intervening hills shutting it out from view every now and then. Then 
Twin Mountain came into view to the left, while also to the left and away 
in the valley below us leaped and tumbled the little stream, the music of 
whose waters would every now and then creep up to us. The Twin Moun- 
tain House, sitting on a high knoll facing the eminence from which it de- 
rives its name, was soon left behind and we drew near to Bethlehem 
Junction. From this place on to Bethlehem we had to climb the steep 
grade of several miles, which had been such a welcome coast coming the 
other way. Bethlehem reached, however, we had our reward, for, running 
down on the road to Littleton, we had the finest coast up to that time struck 
on the trip. The grade was not very steep, and the road surface was ex- 
cellent. The machines fairly flew, and given much of this kind of riding 
we had no doubt as to our ability to reach St. Johnsbury, where we pur- 
posed stopping for the night. We had wished very much to reach Bur- 
lington on Lake Champlain by Saturday night, as by that time we would 
have,been exactly two weeks on the road, but on looking up data and find- 
ing that but little could be done in Burlington on Sunday, no boats crossing 
the lake on that day, it was resolved to take things easy through the beau- 
-tiful green country ahead of us, stop at St. Johnsbury Friday night, the 
17th, Montpelier Saturday night, and Burlington Sunday. It was just as 
well we decided on this programme, for the road between Montpelier and 
Burlington, at least the valley portion of it lying to the right of the noted 
Camel's Hump Mountain, was terribly sandy and proved most exasperat- 
ing for bicycle riding. 

Well, to go back to that grand coast after leaving Bethlehem. We were 
still in New Hampshire, with the pretty summering place of Littleton 
for our first stopping-place. It was almost dinner time when the " Quar- 
tette " pulled up at the Littleton House, and on dismounting were almost 
immediately joined by a local wheelman, Mr. F. B. Sawyer, mounted on 
an " Eagle " bicycle, who turned out to be the local L. A. W. Consul. He 
was extremely kind and accompanied us about a mile outside the town on 
our leaving it after dinner. 

He informed us that some Philadelphia riders had passed up to the 
mountains about a month previou':, and had stopped at Littleton. We 
looked the matter up and found that they were Messrs. Mitchell, Elliott, 
and Nelms of our own club, who had been on an outing through the 
Berkshire hills and had extended their trip through Montpelier and Little- 
ton to the district we had just left behind. 



44 

At the Littleton House Gil Wiese was in his element, A couple of 
those strolling players who are constantly on the move throughout the 
summer resorts of the hill country, happened to be at the hotel and started 
playing in the general room. Gil kept them there during the hour of rest 
after the mid-day meal, and whether it was the peculiar manner in which 
the dark-skinned sons of Italy handled the harp and the fiddle, or whether it 
was that the three different kinds of pie which our companion had sampled 
proved too much for his equanimity, it is a fact that our musical member be- 
came of the color generally characteristic of bilious individuals at sea, and 
for the space of half an hour at the hotel, and two hours on the road after- 
ward, he was not in exactly the condition that robust and healthy wheel- 
men like to be. Nevertheless the '' Quartette " rode into St. Johnsbury 
that evening sound in mind and body. This little incident is mentioned as 
being the only case of an approach to illness among the members of the 
" Quartette " during the entire trip, and possibly the extreme heat of the 
day had something to do with creating this single break in the monotony 
of good health. 

We had struck some good riding running into Littleton, but it was on 
leaving this noted summer resort that we dropped upon some of the most 
enjoyable ups and downs of what to that date had been a most up and 
down excursion. 

Our route from Littleton lay through Waterford, and to reach the Ver- 
mont side we had to cross the Connecticut River, which is at this point a 
wide stream. A bridge is in course of construction now on the site of an 
old structure, and pending its completion travelers are ferried across on a 
large float. Not knowing the topography of the place, we passed this 
ferrying point about a quarter of a mile before finding out our mistake. 
Some farm hands on the far side of the river, noting us going down the 
road, and guessing our desired route, shouted to us and motioned us back, 
and without much difficulty we found the semi- byway leading down to the 
ford. The float, which carries wagons as well as pedestrians, makes the 
cross-stream trip by means of a rope swung across the stream on wtiich 
are rings and pulleys, and the novel stage is attached to these by other 
ropes, and is part poled across by the man in charge, and partly carried 
across by the action of the current, Laurie took a picture of the water- 
man and his craft, but this tribute did not prevent the sunburned knight 
of the pole and pulley from levying on us the customary tribute of a few 
cents for the short voyage. It was from this point that we struck some of 
the enjoyable riding referred to above. Splendid coasts under arches of 
grand trees, and oftentimes along the sides of hills whose green sides, to- 
gether with the green fields of the valleys and also of the opposite ranges 
of hills, give ample evidence of the reason why Vermont should hold the 
name it does, and why it should have the Green Mountains within its 
borders. 

The only time when the " Quartette " so far forgot its dignity and its 
rules of travel as to indulge in road-racing was on the dusty and, at times, 
rutty macadam road running into St. Johnsbury. A supposed denizen of 
that neighborhood with his supposed best girl in the buggy with him passed 
the party, making no bones about taking the best portion of the road to 
himself and his horse and his accompanying load of sweet seventeen more 
or less, and he evidently thought that by whipping up his Vermont trotter 
he could leave the " Quartette " of pedal-pushers far in the rear. He did 
leave us for a season, but after about a mile and a half, after missing him, 
coming round a bend in the road, we drew up with him again. Owing to 



45 

the hilly configuration of the country it is impossible, especially as the 
" Quartette " is a very modest one, especially in the matter of its own 
achievements, to tell our readers exactly vi^hy it was we caught up. 
Whether it was because we were fast riders or because the lord of the 
buggy had been taking advantage of the romantic loneliness and loveliness 
of the surroundings to whisper lovely things to the second occupant of the 
vehicle. Whatever the reason, we came right up on the handler of the 
whip and ribbons and passed him. Evidently our return of his compliment 
to us did not please him or the lady, for on the first opportunity the whip 
was brought into requisition and the Vermont trotter responded to a 
spanking by passing us the second time. ** Well !" said the " Quartette," 
" we will let him alone for a while until a good chance occurs, and then we 
will see what his trotter is made of." Accordingly, a respectful distance 
was maintained in the rear of the Green Mountain Maud S. until the rise 
of the ground commenced going up to St. Johnsbury, when, on the up- 
grade, the " Quartette" drew close up behind and watched for what was 
to come. At the top of the grade and in sight of the town the driver 
again whipped up his nag, but this time the pedal-pushers kept close up 
behind, though the dust was something fearful. Next thing the trotting 
genius knew was that one-half of the '' Quartette " were by and speeding 
along the level into St. Johnsbury. Then there was a vigorous plying of 
the whip, and a quarter-mile dash followed in which the horse and buggy 
come off second best, clean up to the big hill in the middle of the town to 
the no small edification of a number of citizens, who evidently enjoyed the 
spectacle and sympathized with the bicyclers. 

The " Quartette" lodged that night at the Avenue House. 

St. Johnsbury did not possess sufficient attractions to tempt us on an 
investigating tour after supper. Recourse to the hotel porch was there- 
fore in order, and while enjoying the regular rest after the day's ride, with 
a quiet smoke for one-half of the '* Quartette," Chester proposed that 
" Gil" should tell the story which he had promised. Our fourth portion 
acquiesced, and with the prefatory statement that he was no story-teller and 
that his tale would be brief, started as follows : 

"a PITTSBURGH ELECTION. 

" You may give Pittsburgh credit for being a smoky city, but there are 
many bright things there, as well as many dark things, some bright men 
and some bright women." 

"Really, now; well, I'm surprised," drawled the dry and caustic 
Laurie. Laurie could be caustic, we found that out, although his tempera- 
ment is generally the reverse. 

" Facts are facts, and surprise don't make or unmake them," was the 
rejoinder blown back by the story-teller in a cloud of cigarette odor, 
which, by the way, Laurie detested. 

"Well, as I was saying," pursued Gilbert, " Pittsburgh is a very good 
city — good for business, good to live in good for politics, as Chris Magee 
makes pretty plain to your Philadelphia head-cook, Matthew Stanley Quay, 
who, it would seem, has cooked his goose a little too brown of late, and 
who may have consequently less gravy in the future than he has had in 
the past. There are other politicians in Pittsburgh and Allegheny City, 
however, besides Chris Magee, and some of them have long heads, too, 
as you shall see when I tell you how John Michael Carroll put his man 
in from a ward very near to ours in the big city on the Allegheny. 

" John-Michael is a pretty strong name combination, if I recollect my 



46 

religious education right, to say nothing of the Carroll part of it. liut 
plain ' Mike ' or ' Mickey ' was the appellation which this great power in his 
division was known by, and it must have been in his case the essence of 
Judea and Ilibernia boiled down into one strong condiment that made the 

name of ' Mickey ' a tower of strength in the division of the 

Ward. 

" But to get down to business. There was a hot time one fall in Alle- 
gheny City and Pittsburgh, and while general issues did not run high, the 
local-issue pot was just boiling over, because there was some glory and 
considerable money depending on the result of what was a close fight. 

" Of course, ' Mickey ' was in it, and every one knew that the matter of 
a very few votes, no matter how they came, or where they came from, 
would swing things either way. Well, though Mickey lives in a big house 
now, and has an odd dollar to spend on the boys now and then, at that 
time he was in as tight a financial place as his party was in a tight political 
one, and the worst of it was that he had nothing but his name to raise the 
wherewithal on. His name was all right, it was a thing to swear by in 
the district, but scarcely good enough security to loan money on, especially 
in troublesome times such as then existed for himself and his friends. 
One night some of us were at the club, where it was customary for us to 
gather to chat over local matters and sing a (ew songs, for some of us 
were struck in the musical way, and who should walk in but ' Mickey.' 

"'Hello, "Mickey the Mighty," how goes things?' sang out Will. 
Will is enough to designate one of the jolliest fellows in our crowd in 
those days. * How goes it, Mickey ? Will Develin go through all right?' 

" • That's more than I can tell, or you either, the way things is goin', 
now,' replied the new arrival, and then he continued, ' I want to see a 
couple of you fellows, \Vill and Jake there, and you, Johnson.' 

" We went over to a corner of the room with the light of the 

ward, and his first words were : 

•' ' Boys, I want just $ioo.' 

*' * You come the wrong place to get it, old man. Look at that,' said 
Will, and at the same time he pulled out a larown morocco case he always 
carried, and laid a ten-dollar bill, a five, and three ones on the table. 
' We're all poor here ; but what do you want it for, bail ?' 

" * There is not much use in saying what I want it for, but I tell you 
what the ward wants, it wants to win in to-morrow's fight just 89^ votes, 
that's what the ward wants — no matter what I want.' 

"'Eighty-nine and a half votes,' we all repeated, with a heavy stress 
laid on the /la//. ' What on earth do you mein, Mdce, by a half vote ?' 

" ' Never mind what I mean, it's just as I say. We want 89)2 votes to 
win the grandest fight we've had here for ages. Now, who's the man to 
put up 5100, if I go on record to win the fight?' 

'* ' Won't $Sgj4 do, Mickey ?' queried Jake, laughingly, * anyhow, where 
does that half vote come in ?' 

" John Michael looked very wise as he said : 

'"That's my business; you can bet I've got down to close figuring when 
I get into half votes.' 

" ' That's the funniest thing I ever heard of,' said Will, while Johnson 
looked at Michael as though he thought he had been out too long with the 
boys. ' Look here, now, can I have that hundred, I'll give security,' 
said Mike. 

'' ' Never mind the security, tell us about the mutilated vote ; the explana- 
tion may be worth fifty,' said Johnson. 



47 

" ' Well it's a matter of logic and common sense, is that half vote,' said 
the would-be borrower. 'I'll take fifty for telling who the half vote is, 
and, as I said before, I'll give security for the other fifty, if you'll only put 
the money up.' 

a 'We're good for fifty anyhow, and maybe for more, on good security. 
Go ahead and relieve our curiosity, Mickey,' said Johnson. 

'* 'And yez are good for the money, are yez ?' put in the cautious Michael, 
relapsing for the moment into his old-time vernacular. 

" * Of course we are, go on,' was the chorus from the crowd around him. 

" A broad grin overspread Michael's face. 

" * Faith then,' he said, ' it's just this way. You know Fritz Guigenheimer, 
boys, good Fritz, the best Dutch Republican I ever run against. Well,'" 
you know, he got married six months ago, to as pretty a little woman as 
ever walked in Pittsburgh, but faith the beauty's all spoiled, all on account 
of her bein' one of them temperance crowd, over the hill there, she played 
the mischief with Fritz up to a week ago ; but he's feelin' better now, I 
guess, seein' he's half booked to vote the Democratic ticket to-morrow.' 

" ' Yes, we all know Fritz, but about the half vote, the half vote, that's 
what we want,' we all cried. 

" ' Well, an' isn't that what I'm comin' to, haven't yez any patience 
while I'm talkin' about the ladies, and wan of the best of them at that. 
But, anyhow, here's the whole story of the half, and I hope ye'll all be 
satisfied. Fritz and his wife is wan, isn't they now,' and Michael again 
dropped into the vernacular. ' Now, I've got the wife, and bein' as the 
two is wan, and I have wan, and the wan or the two, whichever yez like, 
has a vote, and I have the half of the one, aint I got half of a vote, 
aint I now ?' 

" The earnestness with which this unique story was given threw us all 
into convulsions of laughter. 

" ' Mickey, you can reason like a Harvard professor,' said Will, be- 
tween the peals of laughter. 

'" Oh ! but wait, I haven't told yez all, wait till I tell yez the strategy, 
raal Ginral Grant strategy, I employed to get the half. Ye see Fritz got 
let off to go down to that nest of pirates, at the Jim Blaine Club, No. 3, 
where the other side works from, just for an hour once a week. Well, 
he filled his wife up full with the notion that the Republicans were to 
fight against rum, in all shape and form, and I knew it, and I says to 
meself, Fritz, me boy, if I can fill you up full of the best whisky that 
ever came out of ould Ireland, your vote's mine. And I did it. It wasn't 
right by the little woman, boys, was it ? but what business had the fellow 
goin' and makin' out to her that the Republicans in the ward were all 
saints and the rest of us sinners. Yes, that woman believes that if the 
Republicans win, the whole country, law, order, and everything else will 
" bust" sure. She's bound Fritz will vote the Democratic ticket this time, 
and don't you forget it.' 

" ' Mickey, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, breaking up the domestic 
felicity of a worthy man,' said Will, with mock solemnity. 

"' Domestic felicity ! what's domestic felicity where a vote's consarned, 
and haven't I me own domestic felicity, as you call it, to look out for, but 
yez see, here's just how we managed it. 

" ' I had Mary Casey tip the wink to the old woman that it was goin' the 
rounds that her husband went home from the club along with half a dozen 
of the boys with more happiness in his heart than his sweet little new wife 
could put there. Of course there was a devil of a row among the women 



48 

over it, and Mrs. Fritz indignantly denied the allegation, and wanted to 
know who dared spread such reports about her husband. Well, two nights 
after there was a big deal to be fixed, and a certain party fixed Fritz, so he 
should have just enough as was good for him, and he walked home feelin' 
as though he was runnin' the whole division. I don't know what happened 
that night, but Fritz went home straight after the next meetin'. The next 
time, however, when the big caucus was over, some of the boys got together, 
and a couple of friends of mine got in with the crowd and engineered 
things so nice that happiness was no name for their frame of mind, and 
though Fritz walked home as straight as wan of the bulrushes that didn't 
bend over to look at little Moses in his cradle, still he had a dozen cigars in 
his pocket and a pretty little light in his eye, in case he didn't have a match 
in the other pocket. Well, that fixed it, with what Mary Casey said about 
we Democrats being dead set ag'in liquor ; and Mrs. Fritz Guigenheimer 
swore in her own manner, up and down that Fritz shouldn't go any more 
to the " Jim Blaine, No. 3," and that he should vote the Democratic ticket, 
if she had to go to the polls and see him do it. There, now, what do you 
think of that for a half vote anyhow ? Where's that hundred ?' 

•'' Mickey, you don't deserve anything, you rascal ; indeed you don't,' 
said Will, who had enjoyed the recital, as he did any piece of clever fun, 
but where's the security for the other fifty? you're a great worker, and you 
deserve help, but you're an awful schemer.' 

" ' If I get that hundred, I'll get the best part of the 89^ votes we want. 
Come along, you fellows, and I'll show you the security.' 

*' Curiosity led us to follow Michael round a few blocks and up to the 
hill lying some distance from our meeting place. 

" * There, do you see that house sitting right up there near the top of that 
hill, there's me security.' ' But you don't own it, Mickey. You're going 
crazy, I think,' said Johnson, eying him suspiciously. ' Oh ! but I will, 
though, if this thing goes the way we want it. You just let me get them 
^9/4 votes, and that house is mine, and $100 won't be a drop in the bucket 
for me to fix up. Come now, boys, you won't see me. left for a mean little 
hundred.' 

''The upshot of the thing was that Michael got his $100 on the security 
of his well-known ability as a worker, backed by his prospective ownership 
of real estate. 

'' The night after the election, he turned up where we were all gathered 
at the club-house and handed a large envelope to Will, saying, as he 
swelled his big chest out, 

'" There you are, gentlemen, there's your ^100, and many thanks. On 
the strength of the win yesterday I borrowed a loan, I did, and first thing 
pay back me just dues.' 

" ' But how did you get your 89 1/ votes. Mickey, tell us that,' said Will. 

" ' Ninety votes if you please, and 90 to the back of them, 90, gentle- 
men, because the half wan turned into a whole wan, whin Mrs. Fritz 
Guigenheimer walked up to the polls and kept an eye on the little man 
Fritz. But yez want to know about the votes, well here's how 47 of 'em 
came anyhow — are yez all true blue?' 

"There were seven of us, and we were all, as Michael said, 'true blue.' 

" ' Do you know, boys, what I did with that little $100. I just laid in 
a big stock of victuals and drink, with the balance of quantity slightly on 
the side of the latter article, and with the cash left over I went down to 
Isaac Isaacs and says I, 

'""Isaac, you're a good Democrat" — I knew he wasn't, you know — 



49 

" now don't you think you ought to get the contract for the suits for those 

Italian pavers who are going to be fixed up by our friend to work 

across the river for one year?" 

'" "Sure," says Isaac, "sure, I can make those garmints that I have in 
stock sell at almost nothing prices for those men." 

"'"Well," I says, " if there's enough votes the right way to-morrow 
you gets the job, and lots more. Have you any relations, Isaac, over-age 
ones. I mean citizens, you know ?" 

" *" Oh ! yesh, yesh, lotsh, lotsh, hundreds I have — " 

'< < " There, that will do, Isaac ; as an earnest of what I say, I will buy a 
couple of dozen of these old hats, a dozen and a half of those second- 
hand coats, and that bundle of odd sizes of pants there. How much ?" 
The descendant of Oriental traders charged just twice as much as the 
things were worth, but you bet the good cause did not suffer. 

•' ' " Isaac," I said, " I want these things for my wife, she is dead struck 
on the Indians out West, poor souls, and some of them haven't a rag to 
their backs." 

'' * "Ze poor creatures," said good Isaac, with a grin, " don't ze dear sav- 
age red man want some of deze neckties, dey is sheep, vera sheep." 

" * " No, thank you, Isaac, no, thank you," I said, '* my wife can't expect 
me to buy her protegees — I said protegees — gold watches and neckties in 
addition to the regular articles of civilized wear." 

"*" Vera well, I will tink veramuch to-night and to-morrow about ze 
other matter." 

" ' " Do, Isaac, do," I said, '' you will find it to your advantage to do so, 
my friend," and then I walked home. 

" ' Now, boys, it's a hard thing to say, but it's a fact, can't help it being 
one, that more happy rtien went to the polls from our division yesterday, 
before the result was known, than went to sleep after it.' 

'' * Mickey, you're a great rascal,' said Johnson. 

" Michael paid no attention to the remark, but continued : * You should 
have seen old man Dunkleberger, after voting. Some of the boys had 
him round to the house. He was very foolish, when he got there, to mis- 
take champagne for cider, and after that to mistake one of Isaac's old hats 
and coats for brand-new goods straight from Zusky's and swap his own 
off for them, and then, most strange to say, he forgot he had voted and 
would insist on going to the polls again, and, stranger still, he made the 
same mistake later in the day when, in company with Doc. Adams, he 
went to get shaved, and the barber, mistaking orders, trimmed his whis- 
kers goatee fashion, and his own wife did not want to let him in the house. 
The old man got his back up, and blest if he didn't have Doc. take him 
round to vote again, as he fancied he was a fellow named Jigger or Jag- 
ger who had moved away from the division two years ago. 

" ' It was a great stroke of policy, it was more, it was strategy, down- 
right strategy, boys,' and as he thus delivered himself Michael lay back in 
his chair and looked every inch a ' Ginral Grant,' as he said himself. 
Then a twinkle came in his eye as he said : 

'' ' I was goin' to forget the best thing of the whole business. That con- 
founded old Isaac came round to the house this morning, and what do you 
suppose he wanted ?' 

" ' Suppose he wanted to tell you he had voted the right way and wanted 
the contract,' said Johnson. 

" ' The divil a bit, he knew very well I knew how he voted. Do you 
know what the old sinner came after ? Why, he wanted to turn purchaser 
7 



so 

himself. " My dear Mr. Carroll," says he, " an' does ze Mrs. Carroll still 
want those goods for ze poor Indians. I vill buy zum back if freights is 
too high just now." Do you know I liked the grasping old son of Abraham 
and I let him have the whole lot, minus three hats and two coats for 25 
cents. And that's how we did the business, boys. Pretty neat, wasn't it, 
and there's your money back and many thanks for the accommodation.' 

" Michael put on his hat, a new silk one, by the way, and went out, 
while we discussed what had been to us an incident of peculiar interest. 
It is a fact that John Michael Carroll very shortly afterward acquired by 
purchase the property he pointed out to us on the hill the night before 
that election, and there is not a man now among his friends in Pittsburgh 
who would question his ability to repay the loan of a hundred dollars a 
hundred times over. 

" There, now, the ' Quartette ' has had my story for all it is worth. It's 
time to turn in," and forthwith the four travelers retired to dream of high 
hills and honest politics. 



CHAPTER IX. 

ACROSS VERMONT. 

Green are the hills and the valleys ' 

And green is each mountain chain, 
That, stretching across the fair Vermont 

Sweeps down to the broad Champlain ; 
There Mansfield rears on high its head 

Where the clouds in jealous rest 
Are holding council in billowy folds 

Flung over its lordly crest, 
And the Camel's Hump with curving line 

Cut clear where the cloudland ends, 
And marking against the blue a blot 

That back to the traveler sends 
Sweet thoughts of the hills and vales that lie 

In New Hampshire and in Maine ; 
Now left behind that with flowing sail 

He may sweep o'er broad Champlain. 

At St, Johnsbury the symmetry of the " Quartette" suffered a sad blow. 
Our hard-riding, good natured Chester had to leave us. We had been two 
weeks on the road, and it was imperative that he should be home by the 
following Monday, so, on the morning of Saturday, the three-fourths of the 
" Quartette " took a sorrowful farewell of the departing one-fourth, and 
sent one of the best of traveling companions booming down the Passumpsic 
Railroad, on his way to New York. We were extremely sorry to lose our 
Chester, and thought that in parting company at St. Johnsbury we had lost 
the story, which, as a member of the roving band, he had promised to con- 
tribute for the edification of the whole. It was an agreeable surprise, 
therefore, when, jumping on the train, he handed a roll of paper to Laurie, 
saying: " There, boys, is my contribution to the narrative bargain. You 
will forgive me for its dryness. Good-bye, and good luck for the rest of 
the trip." 

We ran out of St. Johnsbury down a short grade, passing the noted Fair- 
banks Scales Works on our left, and crossing a small wooden bridge, bore 
still to the left, and climbed a good-sized hill which took us away above 
the level of the town. The road was a very fair one. Our route, accord- 
ing to directions, lay through Danville and Marshfield, a distance of some 
35 miles to Montpelier, the capital of the State. There was plenty of time 
to make the run, as the programme was to stop at Montpelier that night, 
and go on the next day to Burlington on the lake. It would have been a 
pity, or, as Laurie said, " a downright sin," to make time in such a lovely 
country. The roads were superb as far as surface went, and in the 
way of scenery in the rural picturesque line the country was all that could 
be desired. " A second Ireland," averred Laurie, and he was right. 
Down long slopes with feet on the foot-rests, dispensing altogether with 
the labor of pedaling ; up long grades, walking where there was any dis- 
position to feel tired ; skirting along the sides of hills the party went, at a 
rate of speed calculated to give a chance for a thorough enjoyment of the 
eminently rural region through which our route lay. The road between 
Danville and St. Johnsbury is very generally traveled, and there were in 
parts some few ruts to try our patience, but otherwise there was nothing 

51 



52 

to complain of about the highway. When near Marshfield, a two-horse 
wagon with five men in it, returning from some race-meeting, was encoun- 
tered. The men were pretty good fellows, and pulled up to ask about the 
machines, the wooden one especially attracting their attention. They 
waited for us to start in order to see if we could mount the hill which they 
had just come down, which feat — a great one to them — we successfully ac- 
complished. 

Just outside of Marshfield, and from the high ground overlooking the 
place, we obtained a very good view across a picturesque country, and 
just at this point there is a half-natural, half-artificial waterfall, on the 
Onions River, or as it is called now, the Winooski River, which latter is 
doubtless its original title, again bestowed on what lower down is a beau- 
tiful stream. The cameras had again to be unstrapped at this point, and 
about an hour was spent clambering up and down the waterfall, catching 
beauties of rock and water under different auspices. There was a wealth 
of raspberries round this neighborhood, and a few minutes' industrious 
picking resulted in quite a luxurious feed off of the red, ripe fruit. Some 
sand was struck in this neighborhood, but not very much. I neglected to 
mention that, getting hungry, we did not wait for dinner until we got to 
Marshfield, but made a meal at a farmer's house by the roadside, near 
Joe's Pond, a little lakelet, so named after some old Indian by the name 
of Joe, who has thus left a most prosaic title for a very pretty little sheet of 
water. The main portion of our meal, as far as quantity went, seemed to 
be maple sugar, for a large basket of the toothsome commodity was broken 
open in our honor. After the meal, the trees from which the sugar was 
derived were shown to us. 

On leaving Marshfield, it became evident that rain was in store for us, 
and the pace was quickened in order to get into Montpelier ahead of the 
threatened dampness, which, most fortunately, was a thing that up to that 
time had not troubled us much on the trip. Also, at Montpelier we ex- 
pected to find the grip, which had been traveling all round the country 
from Boston and North Conway, and which contained films for the cam- 
eras, and articles of clothing which the writer was most anxious to have, 
as common string was scarcely the thing with which to darn stockings, and 
a gray shirt that had once been white was not the most pleasant or pre- 
sentable garment to appear in in public. About two miles outside of Mont- 
pelier the rain came down pretty lively, and there was a medium mild 
scorch into town. The big clock was striking six when the writer pulled 
up at the express office, just as the clerk was locking up to go out for sup- 
per. In answer to the demand for a grip came the answer that there was 
no grip there, and a mixture of anger and disappointment was carried with 
the now broken " Quartette " to the post-office, and thence to the Montpe- 
lier House. 

Gil got quite a grist of letters at this point. He had calculated on get- 
ting to Montpelier two days before we did, and had his generally volumin- 
ous correspondence directed to the capital of Vermont, so as to be absolutely 
sure of getting it. The mail was all right, but the writer's grip was all 
wrong, and a telegram was at once forwarded to North Conway to see 
what was the matter^ with orders to forward the much-needed parapher- 
nalia to Burlington. 

The rain came down heavily all the evening, much after the fashion that 
it did at Plymouth, Mass., and there was nothing to do but stay indoors 
after supper, or sit on some dry corner of the porch. Very little informa- 
tion could be gained as to the best road for bicycles to Burlington, through 



53 

Waterbury, however, being the way that seemed to have the most favor, 
and thence by way of Richmond, leaving Essex Junction severely alone, 
and bearing to the left through Williston and Burlington. This was the 
longest way, but it was said to be the best. After we had sampled it we 
wondered what the worst could be like. 

There being nothing but rain outside the house, and not very much to 
be done inside but talk and smoke, it was a very natural thing to call up 
the story-telling project, and as our departed Chester's contribution was all 
cut and dry in Laurie's pocket, that worthy was directed to bring the same 
out and read it, and being as curious as the rest of us to see what the 
younger scion of his house had to say, it needed no coaxing to bring forth 
the pencil-written tale of Chester, which, read by his brother, ran as fol- 
lows: 

" MY SUMMER GIRL. 

" ' Lightly blew the breezes over Lake George. Bright shone the sun over 
the royal sheet of water where I spent so many happy hours, and the 
beauties of which the balance of the " Quartette " will, no doubt, be enjoy- 
ing when I am once more in harness digging and delving amidst the wil- 
derness of brick and stone and mortar known as Philadelphia. 

" ' I was on the lake in a light skiff — I am on it again in imagination. I 
see the same ripples skimming over the placid water, I see the same beau- 
tiful blue sky above me, and the same grand hills closing in around me 
and jealously guarding myself and my treasure, and I hear again the soft 
voice, soft when whispering and soft when raised in laughter, that was 
then more than the world to me, and that now is a remembrance as pleas- 
ant in separation as it was then a beatific vision of loveliness in palpable 
and tangible presence. 

" ' I hear you fellows saying : 

** ' '' Come, now, what are you giving us," and I say in reply nothing but 
what is fact, nothing but what fortunately or unfortunately for myself was 
an incident in a life which has up to the present been singularly devoid of 
accident, and, with one or two exceptions, absolutely free from the senti- 
mental entanglements which are considered inseparable from youth and 
young blood.' " 

'' Hold on there, Laurie," said Gil, " you're making that up. I won't 
believe Chester wrote any such stuff as that. Let me look." 

" Honest, Gil, it's all here. I don't know what the fellow is driving 
at myself," said Laurie, whose eyes, as he read, had been growing to di- 
mensions that resembled those of the conventional saucer. " What's he 
going to write about, anyhow ?" continued Laurie, running his eyes down 
the manuscript. 

" Never mind; if you're not humbugging go ahead and read," said Gil, 
settling himself down in the cane-bottomed chair he occupied, and lighting 
a cigarette with an air of resignation. 

Laurie scratched his chin in a vain search for the whiskers he was wont 
to pull under exciting or puzzling contingencies, and proceeded as follows: 

" ' It was a dream, a glorious dream, A vision of what life might be, 
and, no doubt, what life was intended to be before the development of 
what the world is pleased to call science invaded the realm of nature and 
sentiment, and commenced to govern the actions of men and things with 
a line of wire, or a puff of second-hand water. It was a dream, I repeat, 
that summer by the bright waters of the royal lake — a dream to be caught 



54 

and held in the golden frame of memory as long as the life lasts that was 
then brightened by its existence.' " 

'' God bless him ; he talks like a book," said Gil, and that was all Gil 
said during the remainder of the reading of Chester's story. Laurie pro- 
ceeded : 

'' ' I met Myra — never mind her second name — the summer a few years 
ago, that I was stopping at Caldwell, on Lake George. It was one of 
those acquaintanceships which, formed at such summering-places, rarely 
last longer than the circumstances or relationships which are answerable 
for their existence. But if any one had told me, if any one had ventured 
to even hint to me that Myra and myself should ever think less of each 
other than we did during that happy summer, I should have thought such 
statement ample cause for the demanding of satisfaction in some shape or 
other at the hands of the embodiment of temerity making it. 

** * Yes, Myra was a " daisy." She was a ** corker," and no mistake 
about it. 

" * There are times and seasons when the heart, feeling what the lips fail 
to convey through the medium of words, has recourse to other means of 
imparting a knowledge of emotions that, springing from the inmost re- 
cesses of the soul, are on this earth, to my mind, a foretaste of what we 
may expect to be the joys of that future life which we are taught to look for. 
It was such a time with me, that summer which I refer to, when, with 
Myra as well as with myself, the heart, too full for utterance by means of 
the lips, spoke with more than a passionate eloquence through the eyes, 
through every feature, and through every action, in a way which seemed 
to show that heaven, for at least two souls, had been anticipated on earth. 

"' We met by chance, as it were, at the summering house of a mutual 
friend. .She drove there in her pony cart — I had ridden there on my bi- 
cycle. A week later one wheel was off the pony cart and my bicycle had 
gone to the blacksmith's, and she and I — I, at any rate — were floating in a 
dream of ecstasy on that glorious dream of water known as Lake George. 

" * Truly she wa_s my Myra, she was my first, my one and only love. One 
week had done the business. It seemed to me we were all in all to each other. 

" * Forgive me if I again say she, my Myra, was a " daisy," a regular 
*' jim dandy," a " corker " from away back. In a week's time I was her 
slavey forever. ^ But to return to that one day the memory of which, like 
the echo of some sweet and lost song, haunts me still, and causes me at 
moments of retrospective leisure or of undisturbed meditation to question 
the eternal fitness of things as far as their relationship goes toward the 
beating of two hearts as one. To return, I say. The sun shone slanting 
through the hills and across the waters of the lake — waters stirred only 
into the tiniest ripples by but a baby breeze, ripples beside which the ones 
awakened to life by the dipping of my oars appeared as great waves. 
Over the sleeping woods, over the silver bosom of the lake, dwelt a great 
quiet, an all-pervading restfulness that offered, could my inmost self have 
been as open to an observer as was the face of nature round me, a marked 
and wonderful contrast to the tumult going on within me. vShe was with 
me, reclining in the stern of the skiff, both fair hands trailing in the softly- 
lapping ripples along the sides of the frail craft, her glorious blue eyes 
gazing into mine with a wealth of meaning that to me conveyed but one 
thought, nay, one belief, and that was the belief that she loved me. And 
I ran the boat in where the great elbow of a hill threw its dark shadow 
over the little cove nestling at its base, and I sat and gazed into those eyes 
and listened to those rosy lips laugh words of music that were sweeter to me 



55 

then than a first mortgage on a seraph's song in Paradise, And the 
shadows lengthened over the miles of darkening water, and a silver streak 
crept across the wavering ripples from where the moon was rising between 
the hills, and I said : " Myra, may I tell you something ?" 

" ' '* Certainly, what is it ?" 

tt 4 i( Myra, you can make me happy." 

" * " I thought I had done so, I thought you looked real happy and I think 
so still." 

" * " But, Myra, you know what I mean. Myra, I love you ; will you take 
me for what I am, will you make me the happiest fellow on earth ?" 

''* " What's that ! make you what you imagine would be the happiest fel- 
low on earth and myself the most miserable girl in America?" 

« I {( What do you take me for, Myra ?" 

"'"Why for a decidedly big fool for a boy of your age. Take your 
oars up, sir, and row me ashore." 

"'And I rowed her ashore, and I thought then as I say now, that she was 
the corkingest, finest girl that ever hooked a fellow into trouble or made 
him pull out of it.' " 

Laurie laid down the paper and looked round at us. " That's all of it," 
he said. 

*•' Well, if I had not traveled for two weeks with Chester, I'd say he was 
telling rather too good a story, but I do believe there is something in it," 
said Gil, and then the '' Quartette " turned in, to dream dreams and see 
visions of what lay ahead, where Lakes Champlain and George barred the 
land passage to the West. 

Sundry were the maledictions felt, if not poured forth in words the 
next morning by the writer on the heads of all express companies, their 
clerks, etc., who handle grips and such like baggage through the mountain 
world of Nev/ Hampshire. 

" Positively, I will not wear this thing any longer," I said, throwing my 
sateen riding shirt, begrimed and stained with sand and mud from our late 
experiences, into a corner of the room. 

'• You know the old saying," said Gil, who was my room-mate. "Don't 
throw out the dirty water, etc." 

" I don't care," I said, " I will get that grip at Burlington, and we will 
reach Burlington to-night." 

" It's going to be hot to-day, and you don't want to ride in your coat," 
said Gil, " put the thing on, who cares for you or your white shirt up here ?" 

I sat on the side of the bed and looked ruefully at the bright sunlight 
creeping in through the curtains ; suddenly a thought struck me, one of 
those '' happy thoughts," F. C. Burnand thoughts, such as the noted humor- 
ist used to decorate the pages of Punch with. 

" Gil," I said, '' do you think they would ever know the difference ?" 

"What difference, and who do you mean?" 

" Why, the difference between that," and I pointed to the bundle of 
soiled linen in the corner, and the comparatively spotless garment of night 
wear I was about to roll off and put in the bundle. 

" Capital," said Gil, " but it's too fancy about the collar, and it's too 
long." 

" The collar may be fancy, Gil, but I've seen fancier." 

'* Not on a bicycle rider, or in broad daylight ; but wear it, man what's 
the odds ?" 

"I think I will; as for the length, Gil, the saddle felt awful hard, 
yesterday." 



56 

" Oh ! the length is all right, it's the collar they might get on to ; who knows 
about the length unless you wear the thing Chinese fashion ? But you 
can fix the objection at one end anyhow; why not cut it off?" 

"That's the ticket; but we have not Chester any more, and he has the 
scissors." 

"No; Laurie has Chester's work-basket or work-bag, needles, thread, 
shears, and all the rest of it, and I want to mend this stocking," said Gil. 

In a few minutes' time the bundle of linen in the corner was increased, 
and a most comfortable night-robe suffered a mutilation from which it 
never recovered, and in fifteen minutes' time, with coat buttoned tightly 
up at the throat, I once more felt like the proverbial Richard — a poor one, 
no doubt, but happy — and we three, instead of four, sampled breakfast. 

Under a bright sun and over a muddy road, the journey was again re- 
sumed through Montpelier and out into the open country toward Water- 
bury. Montpelier is a pretty town, with plenty of foliage surrounding 
and bending over the many handsome houses setting well back from the 
wide main street that leads in and out of Vermont's capital. 

Agreeable to the riding code of the Pennsylvania Bicycle Club we wore 
our coats while passing through the town, but when well outside consigned 
them to their regular place on the handle-bar, and then the laugh for a 
few miles turned on the wearer of what Laurie wanted a picture of very 
badly, but we reminded him that, m the absence of the grip and the new 
films, we wanted all that was in the cameras for the beauties of nature 
and not of art. 

At the start the roads were slightly heavy, but as the day wore on the 
effects of the last night's rain wore off, and a fair road-surface carried us 
into Waterbury in time for dinner at noon. Beyond the great watch 
factory and some handsome residences, there is nothing in Waterbury to 
need special notice, and at 2 o'clock the road was again taken, with direc- 
tions to follow the windings of the beautiful Winooski River through the 
hills to Bolton, Richmond, and Burlington. The road was said to be good 
by parties whom we inquired of, but we found it only passable, and in 
some places simply unridable, where it ran between two ranges of hills, 
between which wound the river over a sandy bottom. Near Bolton we 
ran across one of the most beautiful little waterfalls which we had struck. 
Leaving the machines on the roadside, and guided by a farmer's lad, 
whom the present of a cigar tempted off the fence on which he was sitting, 
we descended a steep declivity through a bunch of woods to where the 
now noisy Winooski broke through a narrow gorge of the hills. There is 
one main fall, and then the river cuts through a young caiion, the rocks 
being worn away and carved into many curious shapes. In several in- 
stances we noted circular holes, cut down or up, as the case might be, 
through immense rocks, much in the same fashion as if they had been 
drilled artificially. Away up above us towered a mass of rock, which, 
cutting clear against the beautiful blue sky, seemed as though it might be 
the ever- watchful and grim guardian of this most beautiful spot. 

From our guide we learned that a little lower down the stream there 
was a large cave, which was often visited by tourists. We had spent an 
hour at the falls, and did not feel like going further down and crossing 
the stream to see the cave, so proceeded on toward Richmond. I 
neglected to mention that, in the first half of the day, we had gone some 
four miles out of our way by turning up Mud or Mad river. Whichever 
name it is we considered ourselves and our wheels mud when we found 
out our mistake, and had to retrace our course. 



57 

The little hamlet of Bolton lies near the end of a long valley, or 
rather at a point where the valley narrows in. All through this valley 
several miles in length, runs the railroad and the river, as well as the 
road, if you can call it a road. Owing to the predominance of sand, a 
great deal of walking had to be done, and many were the blessings 
breathed when, beyond Bolton, higher ground with a harder surface was 
struck. By the time the little town of Richmond appeared ahead, we 
were somewhat hungry, having been delayed by a couple of showers, 
which, as a legacy from the storm of the previous night, came up to spoil 
what was otherwise a perfect day. 

Supper at Richmond, and then on for Burlington. The proprietor of 
the hotel advised us to to remain over-night at Richmond, but we wanted 
to reach Burlington that evening, so as to be on hand for the boat next 
morning at eight o'clock, for our visit to the Ausable Chasm on the other 
side of Lake Champlain. It was a 45-mile ride from Montpelier to Bur- 
lington by the way we had come, and from Richmond in by way of 
Williston the distance was about 15 miles. A good portion of this had 
to be ridden in the dark, and did we not wish for the moon to rise sooner 
than we knew it would ! The first few miles saw good roads, then the 
travel became poor, and just as we were getting somewhat cross over the 
possibility of another Shepard Hill ride, on turning round by way of 
Williston, the highway became a little more ridable, and for several miles 
without light of lamps or moon, pot luck in the way of immunity from 
falls was taken along a very fair horsetrack, running in the middle of a 
very hard surfaced road. 

When within about five or six miles of Burlington, however, the good 
road left us, and for three miles there was a vile compound of mud, sand, 
*and darkness to navigate through. The moon was fairly well up in the 
heavens by the hour of ten o'clock, which hour saw us on the outskirts of 
Burlington, and we entered that beautiful little city by a splendid wide 
avenue, covered overhead with arching trees. According to the directions 
of our friend of the White Mountain House, Mr. Ferron, the Hotel Bur- 
lington was looked up, not without some difficulty, for the first place 
struck, the police station, could have been raided most successfully by the 
"Quartette," the only signs of life about it being an officer's helmet and 
club lying on a table in the audience-room. It being Sunday night every- 
thing was extremely quiet, scarcely a solitary citizen being seen on the 
streets. The " Burlington" was found after a short hunt, and leaving di- 
rections to be called for the Ausable Chasm boat, the thoroughly tired out 
" Quartette " turned in, 

Burlington is a pretty town and a lively one in point of trade, being a 
great lumber centre and a port for the general transportation business done 
on Lakes Champlain and George. 

We were up betimes on the morning following our arrival in the city, 
and, leaving the machines at the hotel, went on board the '' Chauteaugay," 
plying between Burlington and the towns on the northern shores of Lake 
Champlain, Our destination was the Ausable Chasm and the port of 
landing on the New York side was Port Kent, It is about half an hour's 
sail across the lake, and as the green Vermont hills fell away behind us, 
with the city of Burlington lying below them on the shore of the magnifi- 
cent sheet of water, and with a beautiful sky above us, and the hazy bluffs 
of the New York shore in the distance, the impression that we were in for 
a delightful time came home to us, and it was by no means a wrong im- 
pression, either. The monarchs of the Vermont side — Mount Mansfield 
8 



58 

and the Camel's Hump — ^became gradually bluer and bluer as they faded 
into the distance, and the less picturesque shores of New York State com- 
menced to rise higher and higher as we drew in nearer to our landing 
place. The distance across the lake from Burlington to Port Kent is lo 
miles, and to reach the Chasm you have to go three miles by rail. The 
Chasm lies midway between Port Kent and Keeseville, a village on the 
Ausable River six miles from the lake front. About a mile and a half 
from Keeseville on the side of the lake the river makes a leap of about 
20 feet into a semicircular pool of great beauty, and a little further down, 
about a mile, it takes another leap — this time of about 150 feet. 

This latter waterfall is known as the Birmingham Falls. Not very far 
below these falls the Ausable Chasm commences. The river narrows and 
rushes through a channel from five to about 15 feet wide, above which rise 
precipices to the height of from 100 to 200 feet. The whole thing looks 
like a Western canon, and the towering masses of rock inclosing the 
swiftly running stream impress one with the feeling that at times they are 
bound to fall in and crush whoever may be down in the wonderful and, in 
many portions, most beautiful " Royal Gorge " of New York State. All 
along, especially in the fissures and gorges extending on either side from 
the main chasm, large pieces of stone and rock lie around, where they 
have fallen from the overhanging cliff's, which are composed of strata 
which, to most people, look as though they were liable to part company 
and come down at any moment. These side fissures all have names, and 
you can scarcely go into any of the larger of them without finding 
hundreds of cards left by visitors who have inspected this wonderful piece 
of nature's handiwork. Every State in the Union is represented, and as 
these cards must periodically be washed or blown away, the number of 
people who visit the Chasm must be enormous. 

The place is owned by a corporation, who charge admission and pro- 
vide facilities, in the way of walks and bridges, for visitors to thoroughly 
inspect the wonders of the Chasm. Near where the river widens out be- 
fore running into the lake, the Chasm ends. The curbed-in waters of the 
stream run for a distance of two miles between the precipices referred to, 
which sometimes are close to each other and sometimes 50 feet or more 
apart. Near the lower portion of the Chasm is the boat ride, which you 
can take or not, as you see fit. 

The boat ride down what are not very dangerous rapids is a feature of 
the Chasm trip that is very generally patronized. You enter a large flat- 
bottom boat, in which are two sturdy watermen who pole and row you 
through the narrow part of the Chasm, where often but ten or twelve feet 
separate the perpendicular sides, which run up to the height of 100 feet 
on either hand. When about half-way through the passage, the rapids 
are struck, and then some care is required in the handling of the craft. 
You swing round this rock, and scrape over that one ; the women scream, 
and there is a general feeling of quiet nervousness until the boat glides 
into the smooth waters, where the great walls break away on each side, 
and the stream opens out into quiet and unconfined life. To any one who 
happens to be in Burlington or near it, a visit to this wonderful natural 
beauty of the country is well worth taking. The admission to the Chasm 
is 50 cents and the boat ride 50 cents additional. Take your lunch with 
you and spend the day there. 

One of the prettiest sights at or near the Ausable Chasm is the Alice 
Falls, where the river takes a leap over a wide, rocky ledge, to seek a 
lower level before making its second descent into the Chasm at the Bir- 



59 

mingham Falls. There were several parties of tourists visiting the Chasm 
as well as ourselves, and with one of them, numbering about five and 
hailing from Burlington across the lake, the " Quartette " struck up quite 
an acquaintance, and were treated to some inner-man comforts, and, later 
in the day, on returning to Burlington, to very civil attentions on the part 
of Mr, Dean B. Connell, editor of one of the city papers. 

It was a beautiful morning that 2ist day of July, when we left Burling- 
ton for our sail down the broad bosom of Lake Champlain, The " Ver- 
mont " is quite a large boat, and leaving Burlington in the morning at 
8.30, it is scheduled to arrive at Fort Ticonderoga at 12.30 P. M. At this 
place passengers take the train across the narrow neck of land separating 
Lake Champlain from Lake George, and then continue their journey down 
Lake George in another steamer. We did not intend to make the com- 
plete trip by water, but purposed getting off at Ticonderoga and riding, if 
possible, around Lake George to Caldwell, and then from there by way of 
Glens Falls to Saratoga. 

The " Vermont " drew out from, the wharf at the appointed time, and 
with the " Quartette " on the upper deck made her way into the centre of the 
lake and turned her nose toward Essex and Port Henry. Champlain is 
a splendid sheet of water, and while it has not the picturesque beauty of 
Lake George it still has a far-stretching quiet beauty of its own which 
makes it a real joy to travel on it and leaves a pleasant memory in the 
mind of the traveler. 

The "Quartette" sat on the upper deck and smoked, while afresh 
breeze made them feel slightly chilly. 

'' Here is a good opportunity for another story," said Gil ; " come, 
Laurie, let's hear from you." 

'' Don't you want to admire the scenery ?" said Laurie, who looked lazy. 

'' Certainly we do, but that won't prevent us from listening to a good 
story. Go ahead and spin your yarn; you could not have a better oppor- 
tunity." 

" I don't know that any story I can give you will be good, but as you 
fellows seem bent on swapping lies, as the saying goes, I suppose I shall 
have to do my share. What shall it be, prose or verse, tragic, comic, fish, 
bicycle, love, or what ?" 

"Oh I Chester gave us enough sentimenttolastfor a twelvemonth," said 
Gil ; " can't you give us some fact, like that Pittsburgh election of 
mine?" 

" Give us some bicycling fact ; you must have some incident from the 
other side of the water if you have not from this," the writer ventured to 
remark. 

" Well, I can give you a cycling incident — a true one. Here, I have 
the notes of it in this book," and Laurie drew a note-book from his 
pocket, *'The story was told by an Englishman in a Paris cafe to a half- 
dozen of us when I was over there a few years ago. We were, to use the 
same expression 1 used before, swapping lies over the convivial board 
when the Englishman proposed to tell real facts, and the proposal being 
agreed to he related this story, which, as a bicycler, I took an interest in 
and noted down the tale almost as he told it. It is nothing extraordinary, 
like Chester's narrative, and there are not the elements of local interest 
about it that made Gil's story a good one, and it is not a personal experi- 
ence, but it is interesting, I think, all the same," 

Then, while Mt. Mansfield became an indistinct patch of blue in the 
distance, and while the bright waters that had rippled round the prows of 



6o 

Samuel De Champlain's birch-bark canoes curled up in front of and fell 
away in foam from the bow of the latter-day big steamer, on the deck of 
which were seated our little party, Laurie commenced his story of 

" THE CYCLER AND THE TIGER. 

**I don't think you will have much of a bargain if you get me started on 
a true story, but since you must have it the sin be on your own head. A 
year ago I was stationed at Gerripore. Situated among the lower eleva- 
tions of the Himalayas, this place occupies a position which in the way of 
climate recommends it, during a large portion of the year, to the patronage 
of those Europeans who find the heat of the lower portions of the great 
Peninsula of India extremely trying on their Caucasian make-up. As an 
attache of the government engineer corps, with its then headquarters at 
Peshawur, I had considerable to do in the way of traveling around, and I 
had contrived to get from England, more as a toy than anything else, a 
50-inch bicycle. It was one of the Singer make of machines and there 
was as good stuff and workmanship in that piece of mechanism as I have 
seen in any product of mechanical skill. While bicycling and tricycling 
are becoming popular as recreations in the immense country known as Hin- 
doostan, still the use of these vehicles in the Empress of India's vast domain 
is, of course, circumscribed as compared with England, and I was only 
one of a bare half-dozen Europeans who within, as far as I knew, the ra- 
dius of 500 miles, owned what the natives considered as a conjuror's car- 
riage. 

''This machine of which I speak, of course excited considerable atten- 
tion throughout the territory that I had occasion to travel round, and on 
more than one occasion I took it with me when I journeyed down to Luck- 
now and Delhi, It was on one of these trips that I had occasion to stop at 
Massoree, and for the two days I was there lodged under the hospitable 

roof of Captain Kirby, of the th native infantry. The town is not a 

large one, and like most of these native villages it suffers every now and 
then at the hands of some forager of the forest, which interesting product 
of the country generally takes the semblance of what the outside world 
shudders over the thoughts of — a man-eating tiger. Of course, there are 
such things, but my experience of Indian life warrants me in believing 
that they are not nearly so numerous or so terrifying as the said outside 
world believes. They call them man-eaters, but if good, wholesome terror 
is what story-tellers want to inspire they might as well add that they are 
woman-eaters and child-eaters as well. In fact, I question if these same 
gentlemen of the forest don't prefer a plump, sleek minor human animal 
to a tough and well-seasoned adult. Be this as it may, the good people of 
this town of Massoree had been in a woeful state of fear and trembling 
for six months' time before I dropped among them, and all on account of 
the ravages of what they called the * great man-eater.' Not satisfied 
with crediting him with the carrying off and masticating of two children, 
one woman, and three men from their own burg, they held that he was one 
and the same animal that had depopulated to about the same extent the 
village of Derbagh on the other side of the Jungle. This Jungle runnmg 
close by was the bete noir of Massoree, and owing to its extent it offered a 
splendid retreat for the largest congregation of wild animals in that part of 
the country. 

'' ' Mr. Nesmyth, you must not go around by yourself in the evening on 
the Jungle side,' said the wife of my host the day I arrived. I had men- 
tioned something about taking a ride during the evenings, for I had my bi- 



6i 

cycle with me and Jack Kirby, Captain Kirby's son, was extremely anx- 
ious to learn to ride it. 

" ' Oh ! I don't think there is so much to be afraid of, Mrs. Kirby,' I 
said, ' but, of course, if you wish it, believing all that the natives say about 
this striped cannibal, why, I certainly won't be rash.' 

" ' Well, what they say is in a great measure true, and there is really 
good cause for caution,' said Mrs. Kirby. ' It would never do for you 
to visit us to become food for even such a regal neighbor as our Bengal 
friend yonder.' 

"'Indeed, no,' I said, laughing. 'I shall take precious good care to 
keep out of his clutches.' 

" Now, it is a curious thing that if I had gone out hunting that tiger with 
all the paraphernalia considered necessary or essential to the prosecution 
of that royal sport of the far East, I would in all probability not have seen 
even the extreme tip of my four-footed friend's tail. As it was, with no 
desire whatever to see him — much less to see him alive and outside prison 
bars — I ran across that terror of the whole country side as coolly and as 
naturally as you please, and it happened this way : 

"The outlying trees of the Jungle lay some 50 feet away from the wagon 
track for the distance of about half a mile, and along this stretch of rough 
surface I rode that evening shortly before dark. I was by myself, for 
cycling companions were at a premium. Well, I had reached a point 
about half-way past the line of brush and trees forming the outer fringe of 
the Jungle, when suddenly there was a rustle on my right and about 30 
feet away, and about half that distance in front of me out stepped a ver- 
itable tiger. And what a tiger ! From a howdah vantage point, and 
with a good rifle, what a noble quarry ; but by all the gods of Hindoo- 
stan and elsewhere, what a terrible apparition viewed from the saddle of 
a 50-inch bicycle ! 

" Whether the beast had scented me and was coming after me, or whether 
my noiseless approach had taken him by surprise I do not know. Had he 
scented my moderately fat carcass, and thought that a meal off a Euro- 
pean would go about as well as anything else, and then had presented to 
his eyesight an apparition that his sense of smell had not prepared him 
for, I knew not and cared not. All I knew was that the most magnificent 
tiger I had ever seen, either in or out of captivity, had come into full view 
and was looking at me. Up went his enormous head and then down 
again, the curve in his back seemed to rise several inches, there was a 
sweep of his majestic tail, and then with what was more of a rumbling 
grunt than a growl, the huge beast swung round and bounded into the 
bushes. Did I wait to see if he would return ? Did I ? Would you have 
done so ? No, gentlemen, I just did rhe old man Cortis act, and for half 
a mile imagined I heard the pat, pat of soft footsteps following the track of 
the bicycle. I never looked back. The animal may have followed me 
for a short distance, but I don't know. I do know, had any one asked me, 
during those terrible moments, if I would have staked my existence on that 
tiger being present within 50 feet of my hind wheel, for the distance of a 
quarter of a mile, I would have done so, for I had the feeling that he was 
there, though I dared not look back, and to this day I believe that, to the 
entrance to the village, the man-eating beast followed me, and speculated 
after his own peculiar fashion as to what manner of man or beast was in 
front of him, and whether or not he was good for food. I never heard 
what became of that special animal, but I suppose like nearly all of those 
noble beasts but terrible scourges, he fell before the rifle ball of some Eng- 



62 

lish sportsman. My adventure may not seem very exciting told here, 
but put yourselves in my place on that evening and in that company and 
it is an experience well enough to talk about, but not very pleasant to 
undergo. 

" When I told my friends that night of my adventure in the early part of 
the evening, they were disposed to think I was giving them a good story, 
but on my assuring them that it was a positive truth, that I had really seen 
their man-eater, they did not know whether most to rejoice over my es- 
cape or envy my sight of the terror of that part of the country. Next day 
there was one of the periodical crusades in search of the dreaded scourge, 
but my friend of the previous evening had skipped. I sold my bicycle 
two months afterward to young Jack Kirby, who, much to his mother's 
terror, as I learned afterward, would sneak off for a ride in the late after- 
noon, with a rifle laid along the handle-bar. He never had my luck, how- 
ever, in meeting the man-eater, therefore I consider that the experience is 
worth remembering, if it is not worth retailing in the guise of a story." 

As Laurie finished his story, we drew in near Essex, on the New York 
shore. Here there was the usual taking on and lettin^f off of passengers, 
and then in succession the boat stopped at Westport, Port Henry, Fort 
St. Frederick, Crown Point, with its memories of Indian, French, and 
English wars, and, last of all. Fort Ticonderoga, the scene of Ethan Allen's 
famous exploit, when in the name of the " Great Jehovah and the Conti- 
nental Congress " he demanded the surrender that was agreed to by the 
British. At Fort Ticonderoga our water travel ended for the nonce, and 
recourse was again had to our bicycles. On the boat with us were a num- 
ber of the Bohemian Wheelmen, of Brooklyn, N. Y. They boarded the 
train across to Baldwin, and took the boat at that point up Lake George 
to Caldwell. If we had followed their example, we would not have ex- 
perienced the hardest and toughest ride of the whole trip, and would have 
gotten to bed, if we so wanted, in Caldwell at 8 o'clock, instead of which 
we rode all that afternoon, and all that night, over what they called Hague 
Mountain, and did not get to Bolton and to bed until one o'clock the next 
morning. 

On leaving the steamer, as soon as the train moved off, we mounted and 
struck out for the town of Ticonderoga, some two or three miles distant. 
From this point the trend was to the right, leaving Baldwin to the left, 
and, after passing it, running down to the lake shore and into the little 
town of Hague. From the road, running along the side of the lake near 
this place beautiful views are obtained of the splendid sheet of water, and 
our cameras were several times brought into requisition. On leaving 
Hague the road, which in the neighborhood of Ticonderoga was terribly 
hard, and at Hague very fair, ran alongside the lake for some distance, 
and then turned to the right and went up among and over the hills. Be- 
fore getting on the right road we made two mistakes, and lost the best 
part of an hour, which was a serious matter for us, seeing that Hague 
Mountain had to be crossed, and that darkness would be upon us before 
our stopping-place for the night could be reached. We left Ticonderoga 
about two o'clock, and it was between four and five when the ascent of 
Hague Mountain was commenced. The road was but an ordinary moun- 
tain highway, made for goats and mules, but not for bicycles, and up, up, 
up this ever-rising mountain road the " Quartette " manfully pushed their 
way. The original idea was to reach the top and ride down the other side 
by daylight, but darkness was already falling when we reached the crest 



63 

of the mountain, and then, owing to the steepness and the roughness of the 
road, it was impossible to ride down that exasperating grade in the dark- 
ness. It was a case of walk and ride, ride and walk, and fall off and get 
on again, and then walk again. 

On one occasion Gil Wiese had a narrow escape from going over the 
side of a bridge crossing a ravine. If he had gone over the rocky bottom 
of a small rivulet would have received him some 1 8 or 20 feet below. The 
road turned and twisted round and round, thank-you-ma'am after thank- 
you-ma'am was passed, sometimes ridden over, but more often walked, 
and often the road led through woods, where the only thing you could see 
a few yards ahead of you was the white riding-shirt of your comrade in 
darkness. It v^as a weary crowd that pulled up at the small wooden house 
of a laborer at the foot of the hill, and inquired how far it was to Bolton, 
the nearest town. 

*' About eight or nine miles," was the answer, and the " Quartette " 
went at it once more. The road was miserable, and now lay through a 
valley, which we judged ran down to the lake, and in this surmise we 
were not mistaken. Then the moon commenced to throw some light into 
the sky from behind the dark hills on our left, and as we skirted these hills 
and relegated them to the rear, the beauteous " queen of night " rose in 
all her glory, and gladdened our hearts with some little light. Not one 
of our lamps would burn, like the foolish virgins, we foolish wheelmen 
had not a drop of oil among the three of us. 

By and by the road began to go down again, this time it is the lake sure, 
thought everybody. Heavy clumps of trees commenced to shut out the 
moonlight, but it was not long before, through the trees standing thick on 
our left, we could see the dancing, shimmering wavelets on Lake George. 
Then we ran out by the side of the glorious stretch of water, and what a 
view it was. Lake George by moonlight. Out in the centre of the picture 
could be seen the few lights yet burning at the Sagamore House, away on 
the far side of the lake were other lights in other hotels and on landings ; 
above them rose the great dark hills, away in front of us lay the lights of 
Bolton Landing, while up in the clear heaven and slowly moving over 
beyond the hills the full moon threw her light over the enchanting scene. 
Two littly steam launches, conveying late travelers home, were out on the 
lake, and the singing from their occupants was borne to us as we skirted 
the shore and made the best of our way into Bolton, where we had to 
waken up the landlord at the hotel Fennimore to give us lodging for the 
morning. 



CHAPTER X. 

LAKE GEORGE TO SARATOGA." 

I. 

Fairest Saratoga, 
Brightest Saratoga, 
Gayest Saratoga, 

Sing I now of thee; ^ 

Not in fair Italia, 
Not in bright Arcadie, 
Not in any country, 

Find I mate for thee. 

II. 

O'er thee in their splendor, 
Blue skies deep and tender, 
To thy beauties render. 

Tribute from on high ; 
Stars at night when sweeping, 
O'er the heavens and keeping, 
Watch above thee sleeping, 

Grieve to pass thee by. 

III. 

Glorious Saratoga, 
Royal Saratoga, 
Grand old Saratoga, 

Here's a health to thee; 
Here as faithful lover 
Swear I, the world over 
I cannot discover 

Spot to mate with thee. 

There was not a very general movement on the part of the " Quartette " 
to rise betimes on the morning of July 22d. Not having crawled into bed 
until the morning hours, the disposition seemed to be to remain in the abode 
of rest until at least 1 2 noon had ushered us into another evening ; but there 
was a long ride ahead, and also, as Laurie told us, a wilderness of sand. 

We were bou^dto make Saratoga that evening, Saratoga, that, as a late 
writer aptly describes it, " gayest, wickedest, and most fashionable resort 
of culture and refinement among watering places on this continent, if not 
indeed in the world." It was a ride of close on 40 miles from Bolton to 
Saratoga, and unless an early start were made, too much hustling would 
have to be indulged in to reach our goal by evening. Each one of the three 
grumbled fearfully when rolling out of bed, especially Gil, who had to mend 
his stockings again, and who was anxiously waiting for some respectable 
sized town where he could purchase a new pair of " Pennsylvania Grays." 

What a glorious morning it was as we stepped out on the porch after 
breakfast. The sun shone brightly .over the placid waterrs of the lake, 
reaching almost to the front entrance of the hotel. The glorious sheet of 
water stretching out before us in all its famed beauty, tempted a forsaking 
of the bicycles and a patronizing of oar and rowlock. Simultaneously 
we all thought of our absent Chester and his summer girl, and Laurie said : 

" Well, boys, I guess we had better fight shy of boats and stick to our 
wheels." 

64 



65 

Of course there was nothing else to do, and bidding good-bye to the 
landlord, who got our story to put in the local paper, presumably to re- 
flect credit on his house, the "Quartette" bowled briskly along the lake 
road for Caldwell, lo miles distant, at the head of the noble sheet of water. 
Many stops were made en route, to catch the beauties of the surrounding 
landscape, the cameras doing good service. Villa after villa was passed, 
and there were signs all around of the great summer population that 
regularly frequent this resort. As Caldwell was approached, camping 
paities, of which we had noted a number, commenced to grow less, and 
in place of white tents gleaming through the green of the trees, hand- 
some residences, surrounded by well-kept grounds closed in on every hand, 
nearly all of them looking out on the " Silvery Water," which is the cor- 
rect translation of the musical name of Lake Horican, by which Lake 
George is known in the glowing pages of Fenimore Cooper. The old 
French name of this ''Queen of American Waters" is also a beautiful 
and suggestive one — Lac Du St. Sacrajuent, the ''Lake of the Blessed 
Sacrament" — so named by the Jesuit Father Jogues, who, the first white 
man to gaze upon its beauties, was carried across it in 1642 a maimed and 
tortured prisoner, by his captors, the ruthless Iroquois Indians. Escaping 
from their stronghold by the aid of some friendly Indians, this self-sacri- 
ficing apostle of Christianity and civilization returned to France, but four 
years later, the year 1646, found him again among the North American 
Indians. It was in this year he gave the lake the name which it bore for 
a hundred years, and then surrendered up his life to the savage Mo- 
hawks. In 1755 General Johnson re-christened it " Lake George," in 
honor of the then reigning King of Great Britain. 

The road from Bolton to Caldwell- is a good one, and is kept in 
condition by the various hotels and resorts along the lake front. It 
skirts the lake almost the entire distance between the two rivers. Nothing 
extraordinary being characteristic of Caldwell, a stop was not indulged in, 
but the direct road was taken and followed at a brisk gait to Glens Falls. 
From Caldwell to Glens Falls, a distance of about eight miles, there is a 
plank road, and it forms for the entire distance remarkably good riding. 
The approach to Glens Falls, which is quite a manufacturing place, is very 
pleasing. You descend a long grade, going down which a good view is 
obtained of the tov.'n. At Glens Falls lunch was in order, and then, with 
many misgivings, the direct road to Saratoga was taken. It is about 18 
miles from Glens Falls to Saratoga, and that our misgivings touching the 
road were justified is fully shown by the fact that we walked 11 out of the 
17 or 18 miles which should have been ridden. Cyclers will find it to 
their advantage to take the more circuitous route by way of Fort Edward, 
for, if they do as we did, take the direct road running from Glens Falls to 
Saratoga, they had better study up the literature of expletives before they 
embark on the enterprise. The road for 1 1 miles is simply unrideable, and 
as for that distance there are practically no side-paths the state of our case 
can be very well imagined. Although not quite as tired as on the former 
day's trip over the Lake George hills, the " Quartette " returned heartfelt 
thanks when that road, fearfully and wonderfully made, or rather not made 
at all, faded away behind, and the light and life and wealth of Saratoga 
closed around us as we made our way to the Commercial Hotel. That 
night we did the Springs, and the fine string band at Congress Hall Park 
had to stand a fire of criticism from those short-breeched travelers who 
had not been treated to such sweet sounds for several weeks. 

Saratoga is a collection of mammoth hotels. No conception can be had 
9 



66 

of the number and size of these great hostelries without actually seeing 
them. And what a blaze of beauty and fashion these hotels present at 
night when under the glare of the electrics. ''Greek meets Greek" in 
he mad whirl that is born of the possession of intellect, money, and pas- 
sion. At Saratoga you can take your medicine in any fashion you may 
desire. If you are ordered to drink the waters you have your choice of 
dozens of springs, all boasting their marvelous properties and all the *' best." 
If you are visiting the place for a restful time, you can have a restful time, with 
the most lovely surroundmgs to militate to your comfort. If you want a gay 
time that is the place to have it. If you look for a religious time you can 
enjoy it there as well as anywhere else. The young debutante with a fortune 
can there find, very likely, a matrimonial companion with another fortune, 
or with perhaps a title. The aspiring young blood from Broadway and 
Fifth Avenue, to quote the words of Trevelyan on Charles James Fox, 
there finds himself ''surrounded with every facility for ruining himself 
with the least delay and in the best company." If you are a sportsman you 
have thrown at your feet that glorious elysium of wood and water that 
makes Northern New York State the " Mecca " of so many worn-out 
workers in our vast centres of commercial strife and enterprise. Truly, 
Saratoga would have suited those "men of Athens " who delighted ever 
in some ''new thing." 

Saratoga, the cosmopolitan, is the sobriquet most aptly describing this 
world-famous resort. The '' Quartette " spent one evening and half a day 
noting the sights, and at 2 o'clock Thursday afternoon, after a hearty meal, 
pulled out from the great watering place, and took the road to Albany via 
Dunning Street, Mechanicsville, and Troy. The road out of Saratoga 
was fair, but there had been several heavy showers of raia during the pre- 
vious night, and off and on during the forenoon, with a probability of 
others, and the road surface had suffered considerably in consequence. 
Mud predominated for about five miles, and as clay constituted a consider- 
able portion of the ingredient of which the said surface was composed, 
riding became very heavy. By the side of Round Lake the party tumbled 
into what was a regular '' Slough of Despond " on the side of a short 
hill. This was one of the most curious experiences of the trip. The 
order of march was Roberts, Wiese, and the writer. Looking at this hill 
from the top, rapid transit over its surface appeared practicable, and " For- 
ward the Light Brigade," in the person of Roberts was the programme. 
After him went Gil, the heavy man of the party, and then the writer. 
Well ! that hill was simply a mud hole. Laurie got through to the bottom 
on his wheel and then fell off on a comparatively hard spot. Gilbert got 
half way and then his wheel choked with mud, threw him into the filthy 
compound, which at that precise spot enveloped his manly proportions to 
the knees, and nearly all the way to the right hip. Scared by what was 
going on in front, the writer did not wait to try conclusions with the 
middle of the grade, but twisting to one side and carrying a bucketful of 
mud on wheels and frame, fell in a rank growth of green weeds and bushes 
by the side of the roadway. " Sure such a sight was never seen " before 
or since by the participants. The two machines had to be lifted bodily up 
the side bank, for the wheels refused to revolve, and then a stick was cut 
from a neighboring bush and a surgical operation commenced to relieve an 
abnormal growth in their proportions. Beyond this point the road for 
several miles proved soft, and then as the evening closed down, it most 
fortunately turned into a slate macadam highway, and at a rattling gait the 
" Quartette " rolled into the busy, bustling town of Mechanicsville. 



67 

There was every prospect that more rain would fall during the night, 
and this was most annoying, seeing that the worst roads had been covered 
and for the short remaining distance to Albany, a well-surfaced pike ex- 
tended, which could be easily covered in the morning, in time to get the 
day boat down the great and glorious Hudson for New York. 

The '' Talmadge," the house of entertainment at which we stopped in 
Mechanicsville, was one of the coziest and most comfortable which we had 
struck on our travels, and the fact that we were extremely well treated was 
no doubt in part due to the hotel being a favorite stopping-place for cyclers. 
We were not aware of this when deciding to put up there, but soon found 
that we had not made any mistake in choosing our lodgings. The hotel is 
on the direct road to Troy and Albany, and as this road is one of the best 
in that part of the State, it is much patronized by wheelmen. 

" Laurie, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Gil, when sitting 
in the parlor after supper. 

" Well ! I like that. It seems to me you are the one to be ashamed of 
yourself. Why don't you clean your machine?" 

"The thoughts of great minds run in the same channel. The saying 
must be a true one, my remark was caused by my thinking you rode the 
most disreputably dirty bicycle I ever laid eyes on," said Gil. 

"Let's both jump on Mac then, we won't ride with him to-morrow un- 
less he cleans up,'' replied the owner of unfortunate machine No. i. 

"Well," said Gil, " we will say nothing about the matter, though that old 
wooden cart of his does look tough, if he tells us that story he owes. We 
have all, as you put it, Laurie, 'swapped lies,' except the rider of the 
hardest looking wheel in the crowd." 

" I don't feel any more like telling a story than I feel like cleaning a 
wheel," ventured the writer, and then added, "suppose we put the stable 
man to work." 

" That's a good idea, more especially if we have to train it to-morrow 
morning, as now appears likely," said Gil. 

The rain was falling heavily as we crossed the yard to the coach- 
house, and as everything pointed to our having to sample the railroad for 
the short run into Albany the next morning, the stableman was made happy 
by the opportunity to earn an honest penny currying our rubber-hoofed 
steeds. 

On returning to the hotel Laurie again proposed to have the " Quar- 
tette's " fourth story, but on representing that the long trip down the Hud- 
son might be a little more tedious thail would be the retailing of the said 
story, it was agreed to postpone its recital until the following day. 

After a conference as to the advisability of riding to Albany next morn- 
ing, the decision was arrived at to ride if the rain ceased. If the incle- 
ment weather contmued, then, for the sake of sentiment, it would be non- 
sense to cover the few miles awheel, and recourse to the railroad would be 
the sensible programme. Leaving word to be called at four o'clock, if no 
rain was falling, the party divided up into singles to, first, pray for a fine 
morning, and then sleep for a longer time than had been our lot for a week 
before. 

Whether the "Quartette" did not stand very high in the favor of 
Heaven, or whether the prayers above referred to were too short or not 
wide-awake enough, four o'clock the next morning saw the rain still fall- 
ing heavily, and Gilbert was recreant enough to say that he was glad of 
the chance for a longer sleep than he had expected. 

The distance from the hotel to the railroad station was about a quarter of 



68 

a mile, and under the steady down-pour the three of us ran " a-muck," in 
a double sense, over the foot pavements to the D. & H. C. Co.'s depot. A 
few rain-drops and all blue-coated representatives of the law were dodged 
successfully, and the last machine lifted into the baggage car with the as- 
sistance of an obliging hack driver, just as the train moved off. In the 
hurry attending the getting of the machines on board, Laurie cut his hand 
severely, and a handkerchief was scarcely large enough to form an effec- 
tive bandage. By the time we had made the Hudson trip, however, and 
with the aid of a roll of court-plaster, the wounded member was again in 
trim for riding. 

Seen from the car windows as the train ran down to Albany, a good 
view was had of the road which we would have ridden over but for 
adverse circumstances. It appeared a first-class one, but as then seen had 
an uninviting top-dressing of mud, with numerous small puddles into 
which the lain- drops splashed dismally. 

" Boys, if good old Charlie Harvey were with the ' Quartette,' ten 
chances to one but we would be riding along out there getting our faces 
washed," said Laurie. 

" You bet I wouldn't," put in Gil. '' I like to ride in trains as little as 
anybody, but excuse me from fun that's no fun, as Mac might say." 

It took but a few minutes to make the run to Albany, passing en route^ 
the busy centres of Troy and West Troy, and then, skirting the immense 
aggregation of lumber along the far-reaching docks of the Delaware and 
Hudson Canal Co., the train brought us up beside the wharf where lay the 
big boat that was to bear us down the Hudson. The rain slackened just 
then, and there was promise overhead for a clear day after all. 

" No charge for bicycles, put them along in that gangway," were the 
words of the deck officer, as we got aboard, and in two minutes' time the 
wheels were stowed and things began to take on a brighter hue as the rain 
ceased and the big steamer drew away from the wharf. 

Albany presents a pleasing appearance viewed from the river, the 
much-talked-about Capitol building, showing up to advantage above 
the many other large edifices of the city. From the distant view obtained 
of it, this much-lauded architectural creation seemed to us as not being 
anything near what the City Hall of Philadelphia is, so far as exterior 
appearance goes, although it may be perfectly true that, as regarding its 
nterior fittings, it is without a rival in this country. 

i At Albany the Hudson is an unpretentious and an uninterestiiig stream 
giving but scant promise of the beauties which further down make it world, 
famed for its scenery. Securing seats on the middle deck, the " Quartette " 
made itself comfortable, Gil being in the " seventh heaven " of satisfaction, 
because there was a band on board. Music is one of the big factors of 
day and night travel on the Hudson, a brass and string band being attached 
to every boat plying between New York and Albany. 

'' Boys, we're in for a nice trip, there is a patch of blue sky yonder and 
there goes the music," said our crank on the subject of sweet sounds, as 
our boat, the *' City of New York," swung loose from her berth and 
commenced to make her way carefully down-stream. The spires, roofs, 
and chimneys of Albany, dropped behind, soon a couple of bends in the. 
river shut them out from view, and then as the stream broadened, the 
steamer began to make the time for which the Hudson River boats are 
noted. Comfortably ensconced on the middle deck, close to the musicians 
where we had located ourselves to please Gil, there was nothing to do but 
chat, smoke, and take note of our fellow-passengers. As is always the 



69 

case, there was quite a crowd on board, embracing all sorts and conditions 
of men and women. Rich, poor, business people, pleasure seekers, and 
the ubiquitous loafer. There were quite a number of parties going on, 
or returning from summer trips among the many places of interest through 
which the Hudson runs as the main artery of travel. From Lake George 
and its surrounding beauty spots, from Saratoga, from the Adirondack s 
and the hundred and one other places easily reached from the upper 
waters of this noble stream, the palace steamer was carrying away crowds 
of pleasure seekers, whose places would immediately be filled by number- 
less others, and so the great tide of summer travel goes on all through the 
season, and when the name of the Hudson River is brought up, wherever 
a little knot of American travelers are gathered, it generally recalls 
pleasurable reminiscences to a number of them. 

About an hour's time was filled in after this fashion, and, when the nov- 
elty of the music hftd worn off, and the immediate surroundings had been 
fairly well sized up, Laurie moved for an adjournment to the upper deck 
for a more extended view and for the telling of the last story. 

"This is Friday, boys," he said, " to-night we may not feel like sitting 
up, and to-morrow we will have to ride clear across New Jersey. So let's 
have Mac's story." 

" Yes, go ahead, as we are on the water we want a yarn," chimed in 
Gil. 

It was the writer's turn to spin the bargained-for tale, so he asked the 
question : 

*' Well, boys, what will you have ?" 

" I never take anything strenger than beer, and very little of that," ex- 
claimed Gil. 

" It is very little of that you will get just now, except you are disposed 
to do the paying. What I asked you about was how you wanted to be 
treated in the way of a story ? What kind do you fellows want ?" 

" Any kind," said Laurie ; " make it about the boys, the girls, or bicycles, 
but preferably let the ingredients be the two former, as we are well-versed 
in matters regarding the latter, thanks to the past three weeks." 

" Amen," came seriously from Gil. 

"Well, then, here goes, boys, let's have what we will call the story of 

ANNETTE. 

CHAPTER I. 

"Annette, I love you." 

I whispered the words in her ear, she was the last one to whom I was 
bidding farewell on the pier, and then I sprang from her side, and crossing 
the gang-plank stood upon the deck of the " Aurania." 

I was the last passenger to board the great Atlantic liner, and as I 
reached the deck, I turned to look back at, and shout to, the knot of re- 
latives and friends who had come down to the pier to see me off for 
Europe. 

Annette Lascelles was among them. I loved Annette, but never had 
had the courage to confess the fact to her until then, then, a half-second, 
which I felt with a lover's instinct was my own and hers, gave me the 
sudden inspiration to make known that love under what must have been 
the most curious circumstances that ever enamored swain could have 
chosen for such a confession. 

The moment I gained the deck and turned to look back, my eye sought 



70 

out Annette. She was staring after me with more of a look of blank 
amazement upon her face than anything else, there was a flush on her 
cheek and the hand she had suddenly placed on Cousin Bess' arm I 
fancied was used to steady herself, I waved my hand and then threw a 
kiss which I meant individually of course, but which was taken collect- 
ively. Only a few yards separated us from the pier, and the big boat had 
just commenced lazily to drift out under surveillance of the tugs. " Good- 
bye, au revoir^'' I shouted. 

«' I'll not forget the cane, Jack," I said to my brother, as I leaned over 
the rail. 

" Nor my fur cape," said Cousin Bess. 

" Don't forget the Pneumatic," shouted my younger brother, Dave. 

" What shall I buy you, Annette," I called out. '' A diamond — " ring 
I was about to say, but she interpolated, as quick as a flash : 

" Necklace — a diamond necklace," while the rest of^ the party laughed, 
and Cousin Bess said something to her, and 1 thought I could see her 
color heighten again. 

Then she drew out a dainty, little, pink-edged handkerchief, and 
waved it to me, while the big vessel forged slowly into the stream. 

I devoutly wished then that I knew the deaf and dumb alphabet and 
that she knew it, or else that I was conversant with some nautical or other 
signal code and that she had studied the same code to advantage, so that 
I could ask one question and get an answer one way or the other, but there 
I stood like a big fool, waving my handkerchief it was to be presumed to 
a group of 20 persons, when in reality I was thinking only about one, and 
for all I knew without one iota of any sort of encouragement to keep on 
thinking of her. But there she stood, and the pink-edged handkerchief 
kept on waving as long as I could make out the special little crowd, and 
the special trim-built little figure that was to me the embodiment of all 
the prettiness, piquancy, and goodness of the femininity of New York. 

" Confound my irresolution !" I muttered, and then I turned to watch 
Bartholdi's colossal Statue of Liberty loom up ahead, as we slowly made 
our way down the bay. 

CHAPTER II. 

Mid ocean. 

Have you ever lost yourself in a sea of speculation, and, utterly bewil- 
dered, given up ? Tossing around, grasping after something intangible, have 
returned to the landmarks of sober reason, and then taken up again one 
of the more sensible themes or duties of every-day life, to find in it more 
true enjoyment than could be found in all the wild experimenting with 
unknown quantities ? 

Have you ever crossed the — wide I was going to say, but it is wide no 
longer — stretch of water between America and Europe, and while in mid 
ocean, with nothing but the sea and sky around you, nothing outside the 
plates of iron that intervene between you and one of the most pitiless of 
elements, but other elements equally as pitiless when roused to wrath by 
one of their number trespassing on the territory of the others ? While thus 
situated, I repeat, have you ever dreamed ? 

If you have not, you have no business on the vasty deep. You have no 
business there except to be sick, and as near sick unto death as it is possi- 
ble to be, for that should be the only excuse for a mortal, blessed as the 
case may be, with or without imagination, not dreaming whether he be old 
or young. He must dream when he finds himself flung, as it were, more 



71 

closely under the eye of Heaven than he can possibly find himself any- 
where else on earth, except perhaps, on the wide expanse of some 
Westernland prairie. 

Breasting the green billows under somewhat such circumstances as those 
which may have drawn from William Allingham the well-known lines : 

" A wet sheet and a flowing sea 
And a wind that follows fast," 

only steam instead of poetic air was her motive power, the good ship 
" Aurania" plunged on into the nearer Orient, and leaning back on the se- 
curely-lashed steamer chair, watching the blue smoke from the half-con- 
sumed cigar between my lips curl up toward the bluer vault above, I 
dreamed. 

Boys, do you care for dreams ? 

Sometimes they are worth listening to, sometimes they are not. Some- 
times, for the mere reason that they are dreams, they possess a fascination 
altogether wanting in the more practical phases of what is a most practical 
thing, life, only equalled in point of practicalness by one other thing, 
death ; and the practicalness of the latter, so far as we are concerned as 
individuals, is limited, so to speak, to the speculative, for our experience 
of it will be so eminently practical that we can but leave to others a legacy 
of the speculations we at one time indulged in ourselves regarding it. 

But we are wandering, and what wonder; nay, rather, we are commenc- 
ing to dream, and what more natural, with naught but sky above us, naught 
but water round us, nothing to take the place of wind whisperings through 
the leaves of many trees but ever and anon discordant sighings of the 
wayward breeze round ropes and lines of various thicknesses and different 
powers of resistance. Further, nothing between us and the speculatively 
practical save a quarter of an inch or maybe a half-inch of metal. But 
we don't think of this latter fact; it is the farthest off of any from our 
thoughts, we give no heed to it, we dream, and then we dream again; and 
then — well, what follows is to come. 

CHAPTER III. 

I loved Annette. ♦ 

I had loved her from the first moment I had set eyes upon her, or rather 
from the first moment my eyes met hers on the night the Wrexhams gave 
the ball that was a nine days' wonder of Fifth Avenue, and which is now, 
except in cases such as my own, not more than a half memory. 

Annette was not handsome, she was pretty. I did not want her to be 
handsome, or, rather, to me she was handsome, more handsome than the 
proudest beauty, product of royal court or Imperial palace, and I have 
seen a great many such lights of the social world — that is, I have been privi- 
leged, as the " old world " citizen would put it, to look upon them. 

Did Annette love me? Dolt that I was, I had not discovered whether 
she did or not. I had paid her the most marked attention, and she was the 
sweetest little friend that man could have ; but strange, with her I felt a 
diffidence that, truth to tell, was scarcely characteristic of me in a general 
sense, and unlike the brave, whose right the old saying has it is to deserve 
the fair, by my hesitancy and procrastination I most certainly did not de- 
serve the wave of that pink edged handkerchief that was my only answer, 
to the desperately and hotly-breathed words : '' Annette, I love you." 

Heavens ! I, calling myself a man, afraid to speak to a little mite of a 
weak woman, and taking a boy's method of confessing what might be a 



72 

fault, when I knew I was pretty safe to escape immediate punishment. 
But, the pink-edged taste of muslin or what ever it was, as small and deli- 
cate, as prim and pretty as its owner; did its fluttering to the breeze that 
flounced out from the heights of lloboken mean anything ? 

Pshaw ! I flung the cigar overboard and sprang to my feet, and the deck 
did not slope sufliciently to divert my nervous tread more than a few planks 
one way or other as I strode rapidly from one end of the promenade-deck 
to the other. 

If Tom Campbell is to be trusted in regard to his assertion that " dis- 
tance lends enchantment to the view," then he solves the problem of how 
it came about that as knot after knot was reeled off by the stout ship bear- 
ing me away from the now far-off" Western World, the view in my mind's 
eye of that dingy New York pier, with its commonplace surroundings 
remained the most interesting spot among the many I had knowledge of in 
the great land that owned me as a son, and the one little object that was 
the head and front of that bright mind's-eye vista grew into a tantalizing 
concentration of enchantment that was positively unnerving. 

" Confound it!'' I said, ''there is no such thing as stopping off here, 
changing cars, side-tracking, or doing as the wise men are said to do, tak- 
ing second thought and in my case going back. What did you go away 
for anyhow, Will C hay tor ?" 

What had I gone away for anyhow ? 

I had asked myself the question, andjiardly knew how to answer it. 
The only answer I could make was: For pleasure. 

And here I was, fretting to be back once more. Clearly I was not on a 
trip of pleasure bound. I might have dreamed of taking such a trip, but 
the dream was certainly in a very poor way of being realized. 

I crossed to the rail and leaned over, watching the waters apparently 
travel by at racing speed. I only looked for a moment. It annoyed me 
to see the demonstrating evidence that I was getting farther and farther 
away from the place that now I wished the less and less to be removed from. 

" Will Chaytor, you are a fool," I said, as I threw myself down once 
more in my chair. The blue vault above looked as deep and beautiful — 
well, as deep and beautiful as Annette's eyes. " Will Chaytor, you are a 
fool," I repeated, and dre*v a big rug closely round me while the brisk 
wind blowing from the far-off American shore seemed to throw back to 
me as an echo the words : '' Will Chaytor, you are a fool !" 

The breeze was but a poor comforter, it would make savage attacks on 
the end of the rug, it would insist on trying to tear my cap off, and the 
blue sky above looked down as deep and beautiful as — confound it, I 
could not help making the comparison again — as deep and beautiful as 
Annette's eyes. 

I made a rush for the library and pulling from a row of George Sand's 
works the volume Consuelo^ strove to bury my thoughts in those of 
another. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Six days out. 

We were off the Irish Coast. Every eye was strained to catch the first 
glimpse of the Fastnet Rock, with the famous lighthouse dominating its 
rugged and storm-beaten sides. The possessors of the numerous field 
glasses trained on the Eastern horizon were the first ones to shout, *' I see 
It, there it is." 

'' Where is it? let me look, please let me look," and many such words 



dropped from rosy lips under sunburnt cheeks, and from pale blue lips 
under as pallid sick-lined faces. 

I was not looking toward the Fastnet, I had seen it before, and, more- 
over, I had not been sea-sick, though I had not been enjoying myself to 
any extraordinary extent. I was looking astern, to where, in the distance, 
the great white wake of the steamer melted into the green-blue of water 
and sky, and watching the fading West, where the sun was fast drop- 
ping down to rest. In an hour we were up to the sentinel of gray rock 
that guards the first approach to the European Contineiit on the main route 
across the Atlantic. We were past it, the flag had been raised and lowered 
by the watchers on that lone ocean post, ours had been run up also, and I 
knew that within a few moments, over the wires would be flashing the 
news to the " Old W^orld " and the " New World " alike, that the good 
ship " Aurania" had arrived. 

Would Annette scan the paper in the morning to see if I had reached 
port safely, would she give more than a passing thought to the fact that I 
had? Would she feel any more than the ordinary satisfaction of a friend 
who learns that a friend had safely completed a journey on which the 
danger of accident was a probability ? 

I could not help such thoughts. Then as the red sun sank away in that 
far West where lay my thoughts, and as the crimson streaks of what was 
a glorious sunset shot up among the higher clouds, I turned to look on the 
gray shores looming up on our left. I wished it were morning instead of 
evening; I did not like the great shadows falling over the rocky coast and 
the distant inland heights of Kerry and Clare, I had seen them under the 
glancing sunlight, and they had looked bright and fair, but as night closed 
down they appeared dark and forbidding, and even the bright full moon 
slowly rising and welcoming us ocean sojourners to her " Old World " 
realm, failed to rouse me to an appreciation of the beauties of Queenstown 
Harbor on a clear, bright night. I marked the round topped hills as we 
ran through by the forts; they were familiar objects. I marked the odd 
lights twinkling up above the ramparts, showing that life was there. Then 
across the glistening waters of the harbor, other lights from the white- 
fronted houses of the town came into view as we swung out from where 
the anchor dropped below fhe silver-tipped waves. Then the lights seemed 
to creep behind the black hull and square yards of a huge British man-of- 
war, but of course they were stationary and it was we who were swinging 
round with the tide. Then came the assault from the shore and I was 
watching a big Irishman trying to sell one of my traveling companions a 
blackthorn stick for double its value, when somebody touched me on the 
arm, and looking round I saw our table steward, who surprised me by 
saying, 

" There is a telegram for you in the saloon, sir." 

I thanked him, and not waiting to see the result of the deal over the 
blackthorn, went down the companion-way. 

Who could be telegraphing me ? I expected one or two letters from 
London, but had not looked for a wire from either side of the Atlantic, 
and I wondered if anything unexpected could have happened at 
home, or if anything extraordinary had transpired among my friends 
in England. 

On the table in the saloon were two letters addressed to me and a mes- 
sage. It was a cable, and from America. I allowed the letters to lie and 
hastily tore open the message and read it. Then I read it a second time, 
I even read it a third time. Then I laid it on the table and sat down and 
lo 



74 

looked at it. Then I got up again, held it to the light, I could not doubt 
it. The words were there and they were these : 

" Will Chaytor, you are a fool to leave New York and Annette." 

''Boys, I'm hungry," broke in Gil Wiese, "and it's lunch-time ; there 
is a dining-room aboard and Mac's sentiment has shut his ears without 
opening his eyes." 

" Can't you wait awhile longer and hear the finish of the story ?" said 
Laurie. 

" Not when I have heard the dinner bell," said Gil ; '' come along, eat 
first and talk afterward." 

It was Gil's style. You could not do anything with him. Put him in 
Westminster Abbey near lunch-time, and he would not take a guide- 
book in one hand unless you put a ham sandwich or something better in 
the other. The writer must plead guilty to being perfectly willing that the 
practical member of the party should be the puller of chestnuts out of the 
fire. He would also when hungry sooner eat than tell stories, and Laurie, 
who was beginning to think his brother's story all right, thus left hopelessly 
in the minority, gracefully gave in, and the three pairs of knickerbockers, 
sailing down the "Knickerbocker " stream, on the pre-eminently " Knicker- 
bocker " boat, turned into the big dining saloon of the "New York," and 
secured a table to themselves. 

'' Do you know what a story always seems like to me, whether I read it 
or hear it told ?" said Gil, as the soup appeared. 

Not getting any reply, he went on. 

*' It seems like this plate of soup ; you don't know what's in it." 

We all looked up, while the darkey waiter looked down, and with a be- 
nignant countenance remarked : 

" That is mullagatawny, sir." 

'' Ah, I didn't mean what was in the plate," said Gil ; " I meant what 
was in the soup." 

The countenance of the dusky attendant did not smile quite as much on 
hearing this, and he went after a spoon. 

" Gil, you will get us all in the soup if you talk like that," put in Laurie. 

*' You're not dipping into a well, Gd, but you may find the truth you are 
looking for at the bottom of that plate," said the writer. 

" Well, if 1 do find this particular soup, pure and undefiled mullagatawny, 
I will retract and say it is unlike a story." 

" Rather rough on yourself, Gil, as well as on Pittsburgh." 

'* Not a bit of it, I'll prove the truth of my story, which is an exception 
to the general run. But you fellows can't shove on me your Lake 
George vagaries, or the stories of your being chased by tigers in India, or 
chasing yourselves for no reason whatever across the ocean. Oh ! no, but 
I'm curious to know what MacOwen did with that New York product of 
sweetness." 

" You don't mean to say you think I'm relating a personal experience, 
Gil !" almost shouted the writer. 

'' Why of course I do. You told the thing that way, so you need not get 
mad, anyhow if you were not ' in it ' so much the worse luck for you, and 
it's only another proof of what I said about truth in most stories being an 
unknown quantity." 

" Well I'm very sorry to spoil your idea, I am not the hero, but I know 
him and can vouch for the truth of the story which of course I tell in my 
own words." 

^' Oh! use whatever words you like — only don't let them be quite as tough 



75 

as this duck — I wish I had taken roast beef — anyhow, Mac, what did the 
fellow do about the telegram ?" 

** I protest against having our last romance spoiled by the contiguity of 
tough duck, it is bad enough, Gil, to have a ' doubting Thomas ' like 
yourself around. Wait until we go on deck," remarked Laurie. 

In half an hour's time we were once more enjoying the delights of pure 
air and a wide vista from the upper deck, and as the interesting portion 
of the trip lay further down-stream the interrupted story was in order. 

" Come now, give us the rest of Annette, and don't hurry, for we have a 
good stretch of the river before us," said Laurie. 

Gil settled himself to listen with an evident air of interest, and the big 
steamer and the tale voyaged on. 

CHAPTER V. 

"Will Chaytor, you are a fool." 

The condemnation which I had passed upon myself, receiving such a 
swift and indisputable confirmation, and that, too, from a quarter whence 
I had least expected it, was nearly the last straw, which, according to the 
old saying, is bound to break the camel's back. 

What did it all mean ? Did the words staring me in the face, or more 
correctly speaking, the words at which I was staring, signify that I had 
hopelessly and irrevocably hurt myself in the estimation of Annette, or, 
on the contrary, were they intended to convey the impression to me that 
Annette thought sufficiently of me to be pleased at my bold confession at 
the moment of leaving, while being displeased at my going away from all 
that I professed to hold dearest. Never in my school-boy days had I to 
wrestle with a proposition in Euclid or an obstinate algebraic equation so 
desperately as I had to work over the problem as to what that telegram 
meant. Why was it sent ? what mission was it designed to perform ? 
what should I do about it ? 

I realized the truth that on my action depended what was more to me 
then, than the acquisition of the world's empire would have been to an 
Alexander or a Napoleon. That message meant something. It meant 
one of two things, either that Annette meant to be my friend or that she 
was something more. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The return trail. 

I had resolved to take it, and I held in my hand the schedule of 
Western sailings of the ocean greyhounds. For one-half hour I pondered 
over the import of the message and then my resolve was taken. I will 
accept the words, " Will Chaytor, you are a fool to leave New York and 
Annette," as a command to return from the " Old World " and all that it 
offered in the way of pleasure, the friends who were expecting me there, 
the acquaintances of many a bright memory of the past, the boon com- 
panions who were looking for my coming to duplicate in a milder way the 
frolics of old times. I would throw them all to the four winds, if I could 
find but a favoring breeze to bear me on the return trail across " old ocean," 
as fast, or faster than I had come over it. 

It was Saturday. By consulting the table of sailings and interviewing 
the first officer, I found that I could catch one of the flyers the next day at 
Queenstown if I got off there instead of going on to Liverpool. It took 
me but an instant to decide upon this, once my mind was made up as to 
how I should accept the meaning of Annette's message, and, grip in hand, 



76 

I bade a hasty farewell to my shipmateSj who wondered at my sudden de- 
termination to go ashore at the Irish port, and after a few minutes' dash 
across the bright waters of Queenstown Harbor, I stood upon the landing 
and ran the gauntlet of the customs authorities. Then, suddenly, the 
thought came to me, how about those remembrances for the family, how 
about that necklace for Annette. I must get them, and surely Cork, a few 
miles up the river Lee, must be enough of a city to possess a fur cape, and 
even the necklace for Annette. Happy thought, those pneumatic bicycles 
just come out, and one of which my younger brother had desired me to 
bring him, were a product of the very island I was in, there must be an 
agent for them in the capital of Munster 

By rail to Cork was but a pins-head of travel, and a fur cape was assured 
of a trip across the ocean. An Irish blackthorn stick and a bog oak cane 
joined the cape, and then I went for the biggest jeweler in the city. Before 
I found him I ran across the agency for the Mecredy cycles, with pneu- 
matic tires, and that job was settled, but here my luck stopped. I could 
not get a necklace to suit. In the whole of Cork I could not find one 
good enough for Annette, and then another thing cropped up, which, 
strange to say, I had not thought of before. I had not enough money with 
me. My letter of credit was all I had, beyond what 1 had spent on my 
other purchases. 

What was I to do ? Wait for the next steamer or forfeit the present for 
Annette, the most important gift of the lot ? What action would Annette 
think most of, my prompt return minus the necklace, or a later arrival with 
the most beautiful gift I could find in the line of diamonds ? It did not 
take long for me to decide that I would return by the very next boat, even 
if I had to forego the bearing of a costly token of love from the shores of 
the " Old World " to the shores of that other " New World " which held 
Annette. 

But stay, no need to lose the chances that the bearing of the necklace 
might give me. There was a way yet as certainly as there was a will. I 
went to the branch of the National bank in the city, stated my case partially 
to the cashier, and in half an hour the wires carried a message to one of 
the largest exporting houses in Liverpool, to whom I was well known, 
saying to secure one of the finest diamond necklaces in the city of 
Liverpool, and send it by special messenger via Holyhead and Dublin to 
catch the " Servia " the next day at Queenstown. A second telegram 
sent personally, and partly explaining matters, and placing limit of price 
at ;i^5oo, with orders to draw on New York for that amount, followed the 
first one. 

I knew that, providing the message reached our house in Liverpool in 
time, they would attend to the business without questioning. They wei e 
aware I was on the " Aurania,' ' and while they might wonder at what looked 
like some vagary on my part, they could not afford to do anything but 
follow my orders. The matter then was so far settled until I could get an 
answer from them by return wire. In due course it came, and read, 
" Messenger leaves this p. M. on the * Servia ' with goods as directed." 

My head felt light as I walked away from the bank and sought my hotel. 
That night I slept as solidly as any rock lying a hundred fathoms below the 
reach of wind and tide, for the next night I knew would see me lOO miles 
west of the Fastnet on the return trail over " old ocean." 



77 

CHAPTER VII. 

All aboard ! 

All were aboard the big ocean liner. The tender which had brought 
off the Queenstown passengers lay alongside the long black hull of the 
" Servia." She looked by contrast like a forester's cottage set down by 
some Rhine fortress, or like a New England frame homestead dropped 
beside a Chicago monolith of brick and mortar. 

"Sign here, sir," said a smooth-faced ministerial-looking individual, 
wearing the whitest linen, the smallest black tie, and the neatest check 
suit I had seen since leaving New York. 

He was the representative of the firm I had wired to in Liverpool, and 
he had put into my hands the small package, which, opened before him, 
contained a box holding what was a superb necklace. 

I signed the paper that he laid before me, which was a receipt for the 
valuable consignment, and thanked him for the attention. 

*' I suppose you are aware that the article is dutiable," he said, looking 
up at me, 

" Yes, I guess it will cost me something to cross the gangway with it 
at New York," I replied, 

" Not necessarily so," he said. 

As he folded up the paper I noticed the sparkle of a diamond ring 
which he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand. 

" I see you are a judge of good stones," I said, as my eye dwelt on the 
brilliant in its rich setting. 

He raised his finger to the light and turned the ring round with the fin- 
gers of his other hand, saying, 

" Yes, it is a very fair stone ; I gave ^50 for it yesterday." 

I looked at it a moment and then said, 

" I want just such a ring as that. I will give you ;^6o for it." 

He took the ring from Ms finger. I paid him the money, and, appa- 
rently thinking that he had had a pleasant trip, if a short one, he boarded 
the tender and joined the group on her deck, who were waving handker- 
chiefs and shouting to us as we weighed anchor and headed out of the 
harbor. The package, with a few other things I placed in care of the 
purser, and under the slanting rays of the western dropping sun we steamed 
out between the forts and ran along the same coast which I had passed 
but little over a day before. The green round-topped hills faded away 
behind us. The bright sunlight seemed to come to meet us from the 
western sky, the heavy swells of the great Atlantic came broader and 
longer as we edged slowly away from the leeward shore. Once more the 
" Fastnet " loomed up. this time on our right. Once more the flags waved 
and once more the wires bore the message that the good ship " Servia " 
was on the westward trail, and I was happy. Would Annette's eye note 
the sailing ? If so, would she have the remotest idea that I was on board ? 
Impossible ! It would be the last thing she would think of. It would be 
the last thing that any one in New York would think of. She might half 
expect a letter, but a letter could not reach New York before I would once 
more set foot on the pier, or the next pier to the one on which I had 
left her. I was happy, 

CHAPTER VIII, 

Homeward bound. 

Yes, homeward bound, and homeward bound meant Annette. Stay, 
did it mean Annette ? What reason had I to believe that it did ? I did 



7S 

not know. I do not know now why I felt that there was not a doubt 
ahead. There might be 3,000 miles of water, there might be storm and 
tempest, there might be danger, even death. I did not think of any of 
them. I only thought of Annette, and as I stood on the forward deck and 
saw the heavy rolling seas part to right and left before the prow of the huge 
mass of steel and iron bearing me into the red lap of the western sky, I 
only thought of one bright spot in the world of golden light flung over the 
sea and sky in front of me, and that one bright spot was the dingy pier 
on the North River where I had last seen Annette. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Six days out. 

We were past the " Banks." The ocean breeze had given place to a 
few hours of fog. The business-like roll of the dark billows of the At- 
lantic, melting into the long, easy, lighter green swell of the •'* Banks," 
had given place to a somewhat heavier sea, and the great ship rolled 
slightly as she bore down on the eastern shore of the New World. 

Again I lay on that same steamer chair. Again the same wind seemed 
to dislike that my rug should be rolled so tightly round me, again it strove 
to play fast and loose with the cap which I had pulled securely down over 
my ears. Again the blue curls of smoke from one of my last cigars floated 
away to that other blue above, that blue which had made me thmk of An- 
nette's eyes, and which now made me think of them again, and again I 
dreamed. 

I will ask you again, boys, do you care for dreams ? 

You do ; well, here is what I dreamed. 

It seemed as though we were already passing underneath the uplifted 
hand of the Bartholdi statue in New York Bay. Then we had passed 
Quarantine without a stop, and then, running by the Battery and leaving 
the square tower of the Produce Exchange and the tapering spire of old 
Trinity Church behind, we dropped into our berth alongside the pier. 
Among the crowds on the pier I eagerly sought for some one whom I 
might know. Suddenly my eye caught sight of a little group standing 
apart from the body of the crowd, and my heart jumped as I recognized 
the familiar faces of those who had seen me off from the same place but 
two short weeks previous. I could not believe my eyes. Not one or two 
or three were there, but all of them. Ail of them, did I say? Not all of 
them. I looked again. Most surely not all of them were there. Where 
was — was — was Annette ? I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes, 
they were all there, Annette must be there, she must be. But look as I 
might, as hard and as long as I could, there was no Annette, there was no 
wave of a pink-edged handkerchief, there was no leaning of a little figure 
on a larger and stronger one, there was no — confound it ! everything was 
dark and misty, there was no light, and then a most diabolical pandemo- 
nium of laughter commenced, which died away as I awoke into the re- 
verberations of the dinner gong and the human merriment of a number of 
my fellow-travelers who were standing round me when I had rolled off 
my chair to the deck. 

" Hallo, Chaytor," said one of them. " You were having a sweet old 
time there to yourself. You've burnt a hole in your rug; what on earth 
were you dreaming about?" 

" I would wager from the way you look, Mr. Chaytor, that you dreamed 
you lost the pool on to-day's run, which you were so sure of winning a half 
hour back," said another. 



79 

" I was not dreaming at all," I said, " I was not even asleep," but from 
the hesitating way in which I made the statement and from the laugh that 
went round, I felt that my words did not carry conviction to my hearers, 
so I went below to bury my disturbed feelings in the mysteries of the din- 
ing-room. 

That dream knocked me out completely. We were nearly into port 
but I was almost afraid t® get there, I would have liked a postponement of 
our landing for a day or two. Such feelings were foolish, however, and 
1 shook them off as best I could, reasoning with myself that by no pos- 
sibility could my friends have any idea that I was on board the '' Servia." 
I slept but little that night and next noon we ran into port. 

CHAPTER X. 

New York ! 

We were back once more. Four puffing and fussy little tugs nosed the 
big steamer into her berth, and once more I stood on American soil. 
Would my dream be realized, where was the incomplete group waiting 
to receive me ? I could not find it, and my heart felt glad, for, failing in one 
particular, my vision must necessarily be faulty as a whole. Securely 
stowed away in an inside pocket, I carried the diamond necklace for 
Annette, on which I did not propose to pay duty, and against the 
probability of having any trouble regarding it, I had fixed by the ring in- 
cident at Queenstown, I wore the ring myself, and intended as soon as I 
got on shore that I would have the stone re-set for ladies wearing. All 
the baggage which I had was one trunk and the bicycle, and these luckily 
got off the boat with the first lot of passengers' effects, and I ran them 
through the hands of the custom officers without much trouble. 

In one hour's time from leaving the wharf I was at home, where, 
though late in the afternoon, I found not a single member of the family 
to supplement the surprise of the servants on seeing me thus suddenly turn 
up when they understood that I was on the other side of the Atlantic. I 
was scarcely in the house 15 minutes before my younger brother came in, 
and, what between myself and the pneumatic bicycle importation, 1 
thought the boy would go pretty near crazy. 

Dave was always a bright youngster, from the time he was a year old, 
and in 10 minutes' time, he had the machine at his fingers' ends, letting the 
air out of the valves, pumping it in again, screwing up this joint and 
loosening that one, and literally walking all over the wheel. 

Suddenly he ceased his attention to the toy and came over to where I 
was rearranging my trunk, after taking out the things I had brought over 
for the family. 

"Brother Will," he said, somewhat hesitatingly, ''I want to tell you 
something." 

" Well, go ahead, Dave," I said. " Isn't the machine all right ?" 

" Oh ! it's a dandy, and I'm ever so much obliged to you for it, I deserve 
to be kicked for wasting the past half hour on it when I had something of 
importance maybe to tell you." 

"Well, then make a break. What is it? You don't owe that con- 
founded Wallis any more money, do you?" Dave sometimes got into 
small pecuniary difficulties, and I was invariably his confidant. 

" A little, not much, but that's not what I meant, it's worse than 
that." 

" Worse than that, well I had better not go away in such a hurry again. 
What's up now ?" 



So 

"I don't think you had, leastwise you hadn't, I mean you were 
foolish — " here he stopped. 

" the boy, I muttered, as I gave a vicious twist to some stuff in a 

corner of the trunk, " he's got the fool racket on, too." 

Dave saw there was something wrong and he hesitated. 

" Hand me a match and fire away with what you have got to say," I 
said. 

He struck the match, and as I lighted a cigar blurted out : 

'' You know Annette Lascelles, don't you, brother Will ?" 

<* Why, of course I do," I replied, in as suave a manner as possible, 
though mentally I was saying, " the young scallawag, he knows that as well 
as I do without asking." 

'' Well, you know that crazy- head lawyer feller, Somers, don't you, 
Will ?" 

"Yes, I know Dick Somers, but what the devil has he got to do with 
Miss Lascelles?" 

" And you know Mr. Hicks, that stuffed so at mamma's reception, who 
looks like old Cleveland, only he hasn't any more manners than a boot- 
black ?" 

" What are you driving at, Dave ? What has Hicks to do with Somers, 
or what have they both to do with Annette?" I dropped the name in- 
advertently, and at the same time dropped my cigar. 

I stooped to pick it up, at the same time brushing the ashes off my coat 
sleeve. 

Dave took advantage of my occupation and came right out with : 

" They've got this much to do with her, one of them is going to marry 
Miss Lascelles, that's alL I thought you would like to know." 

'' I let the cigar lie and stared in blank astonishment at Dave, who was 
twirling one of the pedals of his machine round as if his life depended 
on making it go at the highest speed attainable. 

"Dave," I said, "you're an ass." 

" Maybe I am, but she's a bigger one if she marries one of those Jakes." 

I scarcely knew whether to be angry at Dave's want of respect for 
Annette, or mollified at the disparagement of two of the men who, I must 
confess, I had had my eye on for some time past as being possible rivals for 
the favor of Annette." 

"Come, come, Dave, you are mistaken," I said. " What makes you 
talk like that?" 

" Well, brother Will, I didn't know^ but it would interest you, because 
I heard Cousin Bess say that it would, and she said you were a fool to go 
to Europe, and now that you're back, why don't you knock those chaps 
out ? I like Annette, I do; she's a daisy, and she used to like you before 
you went away. Cousin Bess said that, too." 

I was pretty nearly dumbfounded. I picked up my cigar, relighted it, 
got some writing materials, penned a note saying I was in New York and 
had brought her something from Europe, directed it to Annette, called 
Dave over and said : 

" Dave, when you have delivered that letter and brought me an answer, 
you can bring me that bill from Wallis and any others you have. I'll look 
after them." 

** You're not angry with me. Will, are you? Wallis' bill is only about 
^loo." 

'' Certainly I'm not, you're a good boy for once, Dave. Now leg it, or 
ride it as fast as you can, and bring me an answer." 



'' I'll ride, and I'll get an answer or bust that pneumatic," he said, as, 
with the machine, he flung himself out of the room. 

There was wonder without stint inside of the household an hour from 
that time. Questions without number were piled on me from every mem- 
ber of the family, but I kept my counsel and merely said that I got tired 
of the trip before it had commenced, and decided to return home. 

CHAPTER XI. 

The answer. 

Dave had brought It. I tore the little square envelope open with fever- 
ish impatience. There were three lines written across the small sheet of 
notepaper, and they were these : '' Will Chaytor, you were not a fool to 
return to New York and Annette !" 

" Dave, bring me that bill of yours, and any others your unlimited ex- 
travagance may have contracted," I said to my trusty messenger. 

He was about to speak, but hesitated. 

'' Well, what's the matter, got a whole mountain of debt resting on your 
shoulders, Dave ?" 

" Brother Will, the bicycle is broke," he said, in a crestfallen way, 

'' Broken already ! dead broke, is it, like yourself? Well, that's a pity ; 
we must get it mended." 

" I couldn't help it, Will ; down at Desbrosses Street a big truck ran 
clear over the back wheel." 

" Well, don't look so down in the mouth about it, Dave, I suppose you 
could not help it. The thing is easily mended." 

'' That's just what I told Miss Lascelles." 

" The bicycle broke, then, when you were going ; that was worse stilL'^ 

*' No, it didn't, either ; the fool of an Irishman ran into me just as I 
got off the ferry." 

''How in the name of sense, then, could you tell Miss Lascelles about 
it?" 

'' I didn't say I did. You told me not to be down in the mouth about 
it, and that's just what I told Miss Lascelles about you. I wasn't talkin' 
about the bicycle." 

I grabbed him by the arm. 

"What's that you say," I shouted; ''you told Annette not to be down 
in the mouth about me ? Dave, I'll kick you — " 

" No, I didn't, either. I told Annette you were down in the mouth 
about her, or if you were not, you had lost an awful lot of money, or 
something. I told her you looked worried almost to death, but that I 
thought that she was so good and kind she could mend things up. That's 
almost what you told me about the bicycle." 

I went over to a mirror and surveyed my physical appearance. I never 
appeared better in my life, never looked stronger or heartier. 

" Dave, you're an ass — a double-distilled concentration of stupidity," I 
said. 

" No, I aint. Will, I'll bet you I aint, for Annette said, ' Poor Will ; he 
must have had a fearful bad trip' — I think she said fearful, and then she 
wrote that letter." 

" Well, maybe you are not such a bad fellow, Dave, after all. Look 
those bills up, and I'll get them fixed, and get the bicycle fixed, too, and 
here, shake hands, Dave, my boy, you knock the special messenger service 
out anyhow." 

Now, I suppose you fellows think you're going to get a taste of realistic 
IX 



b2 

love-making. Not a bit of it ; Annette was one of the most practical little 
bodies within the boundaries of New York. Two hours from the time I 
received her answer to my note I had knocked the chances of the other 
fellows — supposing they ever had any — into a good, old-fashioned cocked 
hat, and it was not the necklace, fine as it was, that did the business, I 
might have let the said necklace go, or a dozen of them for that matter, 
which fact on my discovering it forced me to acknowledge that, in sober 
earnest, I had very nearly made a big fool of myself, and to also acknowl- 
edge that I had found a wise little woman, as well as a loving one, in 
Annette. 

At Nyack-on-the-Hudson, there is a typical American home where, on 
a ground-work of common sense, dwell love, honor, and happiness, and 
the greatest of these is happiness, because it is born of love and nurtured 
in honor. 

" There's your story, boys, how does it suit you? I am sorry I could 
not tell it better than I have done. With Gil there, it's being a veracious 
tale will go a long way toward excusing its literary faults." 

'' I'm satisfied," said Gil, "but you forgot to tell us if, after chasing 
yourself across and back on the Atlantic, yourself, or rather Annette and 
the chaser, got married." 

'' Gil would like the whole courtship, marriage-service, and honeymoon 
served up with extra salad dressing. Come, Gil, you're not so dumb as 
all that ; can't you understand they got married, did Will and Annette, 
and lived happily ever after at Nyack," said Laurie. 

" Don't we pass that place going down the river?" queried Gilbert. 

" Yes, very shortly." 

'' Well, then, suppose Mac shows us the exact spot where the heroine 
of this romance of real life lives," put in Gil. 

" Oh ! you can't see the house from the river," the writer remarked, 

" I thought not, that's generally the way with interesting things of this 
sort," and as Gil spoke he got up and went over to the rail. 

" Mac, is that tale as true as Chester's ? Give it straight, old man," 
asked Laurie. 

" As far as I know of Chester's story, the one I have told is truer. I 
never saw his summer girl flame." 

'' Nor I. I suppose he had no compunctions about taking us into his 
confidence, as it is several years since his trip to Lake George," said Lau- 
rie, and then he also went over to the rail, as he remarked, to " take a 
snap-shot of Nyack" when we should reach that place. 



CHAPTER XI. 

HOME AGAIN. 

It was but a short half-hour from the finishing of the last of the quar- 
tette of stories, when the high banks at West Point rose up to the right. 
As the steamer passed this historic spot a cheer from a group of cadets be- 
longing to the famous military college at that place greeted the wash from 
her paddle wheels on the rocks of the Point. The Indian fighters of the 
future to the number of about twenty were enjoying a swim, some of 
them being in the water and others spread over the rocks. In a few 
moments they were away behind. To one-half of the " Quartette " this 
noted river trip was entirely new, and the cameras had to do heavy duty 
in catching the numerous objects of interest along the time-honored shore, 
the flotillas of canal barges, and the various pleasure craft dotting the 
broad bosom of the river, Poughkeepsie, Newburgh, Storm King 
Mountain, standing out bluff and hearty against the gray-blue sky; 
the old-time abiding places of Washington Irving and the many other 
notable characters in literature and history, whose names are indissolubly 
linked with this beautiful stream. Then the "Palisades" rose up dun 
colored and impressive in the distance, and not the less interesting as we 
passed them. Up-stream came the noted old river-boat, the " Mary 
Powell," and then as.the great " Babylon " of the New World, represented 
by the cities of New York, Jersey City, and Brooklyn, was approached, 
lying under a hazy mist which rolled in from the ocean, the shipping of all 
kinds increased in number, and as the broadside of Gotham crept toward 
us, or rather as we swept down upon it, the head and front of marine 
interest came into view in the shape of the '' White Squadron," which we 
had last seen at Boston on the commencement of our journeyings. 
" Uncle Sam's " great cruisers were lying at anchor in mid-stream, and as 
we ran by them, all eyes were bent on the stately vessels lying at ease on 
the calm waters of the royal stream, their square yards, black smoke-stacks, 
and white hulls forming a splendid spectacle, interesting alike to the eye 
of the unsophisticated landsman and the professional seaman. Inside of 
a few minutes from reaching it, our boat ran into her berth, and once more 
we were on solid earth in the city of New York. Only for a few minutes, 
however, for it was nearly six o'clock, and, making straight for the Penn- 
sylvania Railroad ferries, we were soon on the Jersey shore and sampling 
the rough-and-tumble pavements of Jersey City. As long as daylight 
lasted the programme was to go ahead. So, through Jersey City, and 
across the low-lying lands between that great centre and Newark, the trio 
of riders made their way. The road connecting the two large cities may 
be a fairly good one in point of surface, but we found it a most abominably 
foul one in the way of olfactory embellishment. Of all the evil smells 
met with during the course of the three weeks' trip, those of the seven or 
eight miles' stretch between Jersey City and Newark were most decidedly 
the worst. 

Once is enough to travel that dismal stretch of country. By the side of 
the road stretch long vistas of marsh-land covered with waving masses of 
flags and rushes, suggesting scenes and incidents such as in our younger 

83 



84 

days we had delighted in dwelling upon in blood-curdling creations of the 
realistic novelist and crime concocter. The proximity of numerous hog- 
slaughtering and like establishments was most offensively demonstrated 
through more than one of our very acute senses, and it was with feelings 
of relief that we saw the heavenward climbing chimney of the Clarke 
thread mills gradually grow taller and taller as we approached the busy 
centre of industry known as Newark. 

At Newark supper was in order and Heaven deliver us from ever hav- 
ing to sup or dine or sample any kind of meal in that burgh again. The 
sample we had of supper, decided us to push on to Elizabeth, some four 
miles nearer Philadelphia, for a stopping-place for the night, and into this 
latter town we rolled about lo p. m., and half an hour later went to sleep to 
the music of endless moving trains on the Central Railroad of New Jersey. 

Next morning the " Quartette " was most inexcusably lazy. It was nine 
o'clock before breakfast was finished and the magnificent road leading to 
Westfield and Plainfield tackled. Being Saturday, it was imperative that 
the State of New Jersey, lying between us and our much-desired homes in 
Philadelphia, should be crossed. It was an 8o-mile ride, but, on the last 
day of the trip, and hardened as we were by three weeks of work on the 
road, this did not appear as anything too much to cover, and under clear 
skies and over one of the finest roads in America, running through West- 
field to Plainfield, the ''Quartette" made the best time of the whole trip. 

Being the route followed by the great century runs between Newark and 
Philadelphia, the ride across New Jersey needs but slight description. 
Reaching Plainfield and Bound Brook too early for dinner, the enjoying of 
the mid-day meal was postponed until Hopewell was reached, and at this 
quiet little hamlet the weary inner man was refreshed after a manner that 
is well and favorably known to cyclers who make the journey a-wheel be- 
tween the two great metropolitan centres of New York and Philadelphia. 
Dinner over, a half-hour's rest followed, and then "on for Trenton" was 
the word, and on for Trenton we went, over roads that, built of red clay, 
were passable enough, but not nearly so satisfactory riding as the grand 
highways leading out of Elizabeth and ending at Plainfield. 

Historic Trenton ! We reached it, we went through it, we did not stop 
in it, it was old ground to us, but straight down that well-known composi- 
tion-block paved street to the long bridge across the Delaware went the 
" Quartette," and as the evening shadows commenced to assert them- 
selves in the eastern sky, the Pennsylvania shore was gained, and into 
Bristol, after an abominably rutty and sandy ride, with one mistake made 
as to the road, the now slightly weary pedalers pushed their way. 

Some refreshment was in order at Glosson's noted hostelry, and then 
down the Bristol Pike with the appetite of expectation whetted, the " Quar- 
tette " rode and walked toward the '' City of Homes." The sun had set. 
Darkness was falling faster than we bargained for, and faster than the mis- 
erably surfaced road rendered agreeable. Side-path riding was all that 
could be done, and side-path walking was as often as not the order of 
march. The swiftly-rushing trains on the Pennsylvania Railroad between 
Philadelphia and New York passed us in either direction, their on-rushing 
making mock of our comparatively slow advance. Then night fell, and 
as we drew near the environs of Frankford and its aggregation of cobble- 
stones and vile street railway tracks, the practical soul of Gil Wiese re- 
belled against work fit only for '' hewers of wood and drawers of water," 
and he proposed that for the balance of the ride into the " overgrown vil- 
lage " the steel highway should be laid under requisition. The writer 



85 

seconded the motion, and down to one of the way stations, through what 
was pitch darkness, floundered the " Quartette," A resident of the locality 
informed us that the next train did not stop. 

" Flag it," said Gil Wiese. 

" You can do so by a green light," said the local citizen. 

Forthwith Gil raised a green lantern secured from the station, and 
mounting a truck on the platform, he swung the signal frantically round 
his head as the great eye of the locomotive came down the track. 

We were aboard the train in a jiffy, machines and all, and, curiously 
enough, found the baggage-master a cycler and a rider of a '' Hickory " 
wheel. He made things comfortable for us for the lo minutes' trip across 
the city to the much-frequented "Zoo" station, where, piling out, five 
minutes later saw the '' Quartette " safe within the precincts of the Penn- 
sylvania Bicycle Club, 

Kind and long-suffering reader, we have finished; our trip is at an 
end, our bicycles lie in their old accustomed racks in the wheel-room of 
the club-house ; they are, as we are ourselves, soiled and travel-stained, 
the blue and gold on their handle-bars is faded, and in one instance miss- 
ing, lost amid the New Hampshire hills, but they are, as we are ourselves, 
safe at home. 

''The sweetest, dearest spot of all the rest," 

and over them hangs the club banner, and in blue emblems, on a field of 
gold, we read the club song. 

I. 

" Tender and true 
The gold and the blue 

Waves over ' Pennsylvania/^ 
And rolling high 
The grand old cry 

Rings out ' Pennsylvania.' 

II. 

" With hand and with heart, 
Though spread far apart. 

Still it is ' Pennsylvania ;' 
Still ' tender and true,' 
The gold and the blue. 

Still we are ' Pennsylvania,* 

III. 

Can never grow old 

For us or for ' Pensylvania;' 
For tender and true, 
'Neath the gold and the blue, 

' We're nothing if not' Pennsylvania. 



[the end,] 



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